Drifting in the Shadows
by yellowrose
Summary: Sam and Frodo find themselves as members of the orc army. But what happens when only one makes it out?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a story I started maybe two years ago and never continued. It's certainly no Pulitzer Prize winner, but I decided to finish it anyway and hope anyone who chooses to read it will enjoy it. If any readers decide to review this, I will be happy to respond privately if an email address is available. Thank you!

Disclaimer: The characters and stories connected with _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy are strictly the property of JRR Tolkien. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter 1 Paths Divided

Sam was exhausted. He leaned against the rock and stared out into the oppressive darkness of Mordor. It was never properly light in this accursed place he thought dully. He glanced over towards his companion. Frodo lay sound asleep, so burdened by fatigue and worry, that he lacked energy to spare for dreams, good or bad. His battered orc helm lay nearby: a grim reminder of their recent escape. Sam sighed and examined his own hideous armor. After much searching through Cirith Ungol, he had managed to find two helms small enough to fit himself and his master and that sufficiently covered their faces. Sam still wore his own clothing, but was covered by a foul cloak of some long dead beast. Frodo had disposed of the orc chain mail he had been wearing, claiming it was much too heavy for him to bear, but still wore the ragged orc garments Sam had scrounged for him in Cirith Ungol. They did look like orcs, thought Sam with a small laugh, at least one of the smaller breeds and as long as you didn't look _too_ close.

He sighed wearily and rubbed his aching eyes. The wind never seemed to stop blowing here and the grit and noxious fumes in the air constantly irritated his eyes and made him perpetually thirsty. He absently lifted the water bottle to his lips, forgetting he had given Frodo the last bit of water just a short while ago. _If we don't find water soon_, thought Sam grimly, _we won't be travelin' much farther_. Clumsily, he rose to his feet and with a worried glance at his master, Sam headed down the steep hill in search of water.

For days they traveled like this. Sam managed to find just enough water to keep them alive, but thirst constantly plagued them. All they had left were a few of the Lembas loaves and Sam frequently went without, making sure his master received the bulk of their supplies. _He needs it so much more than me_, thought Sam as he tightened his belt yet another notch. He would do what he must to keep Frodo going.

As they traveled the rough terrain of the Morgai, they ultimately made the decision to take the road heading eastwards, toward the Isenmouth. "I don't much like bein' so exposed," Sam said apprehensively, "But, I don't see any other way." Frodo nodded wearily. He left most decisions up to Sam these days; the burden of the Ring took all his energy. At first, their journey went well. Without the boulders and rough terrain to deal with, they made better time then they had in a long while. Sam began to feel that perhaps they would actually reach their final destination: the Cracks of Doom.

But as so often happened on this long ordeal, their luck did not hold. Sam called for a brief halt early one evening. Frodo's strength was rapidly failing and Sam tried to make the journey as easy on him as possible. They had no sooner resumed their hike, when Sam froze. An odd rumbling sound from behind caught his attention. Abruptly he turned and stared back the way they had come. Although still some distance behind them, he could now clearly make out the tramping of many feet and the glow of a number of torches. The orc army was on their trail!

There was no escape. On one side of the road, a steep cliff lowered over them; on the other, a deep ravine. Quickly, Sam and Frodo huddled against the rocky wall ducking their heads and covering their distinctive feet with the orc shields they still carried. It was their desperate hope that perhaps in the darkness, the orcs would fail to notice them. At first, it appeared that might indeed be the case. Rank after rank of panting orcs raced by as large uruks snarled at them and flicked their whips to keep the smaller creatures moving. They were headed to Udûn and to Morannon, the gates of Mordor. Sauron was calling all his minions to gather there for the ultimate battle against the armies of the West.

Sam and Frodo huddled deeper into the shadows, remaining as still as possible. Sam was almost ready to believe they had made it, when one especially large and cruel looking uruk spotted them. "Hey, you! No resting!" the monster snarled, "Get moving before you really get a taste of my whip!" Frodo and Sam stared at each other in horror. They just knew that if the uruk got a good look at them, he'd quickly realize they weren't orcs. The uruk called the others to halt as he strode over to where the hobbits sat frozen. He peered down at them noticing the device on their shields. "What're you two still doing here?" he growled. "Your lot should have been in Udûn yesterday! Better not be thinkin' of deserting!" He snapped his whip, catching Frodo on the leg causing him to cry out. The two unfortunate hobbits quickly scrambled to their feet, and keeping their heads down, started towards the rear of the party.

"Ho,ho! No you don't!" laughed the uruk cruelly striking them again with his whip. "Get farther up where I can see you! No one's desertin' on my watch! Your captain will give you what for when you two arrive a day late, I can promise you that!"

Sam and Frodo glanced at each other in dismay. How would they ever escape this nightmare? They had little time to ponder their predicament as a moment later, they found themselves running along side several hundred panting, sweating orcs. The stench alone was enough to make them feel ill. Each step was agonizing for Sam, so he knew his master must be suffering even more so. The faithful gardener stayed close by Frodo's side, frequently helping him along and more than once prevented his master from falling. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that the mass of orcs would hardly stop for a little thing like a fallen comrade. "Run right over 'im is more like it!" muttered Sam darkly. He gave a little cry of pain as the big uruk flicked Sam's legs with the whip once again.

"Quit yer dawdling, there!" the monster roared and gritting his teeth, Sam did his best to keep both himself and his failing master moving.

Hour after hour they ran. Sam had no idea what kept them on their feet. They had been so exhausted when they started that never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined they could keep this pace going for so long. Several times, he made Frodo drink some of their precious water. He took none for himself, believing that as the stronger of the two, he could go longer without. How much longer was up to debate. Sam grew more worried as it became obvious Frodo was near collapse.

"Just a little farther, Mr. Frodo!" Sam whispered over and over, trying to encourage his master. "Surely we'll stop soon!" He had noticed that many of their unfortunate comrades were also staggering with exhaustion. Sam wondered just how long they had been running before he and Frodo had been forced to join them. The cruel uruks showed no sign of fatigue and continued to scream and whip the smaller orcs on.

At long last, they came to a place where two roads converged and as luck would have it, another band of orcs was being forced along it from the direction of Barad-dûr. They were near the opening to the Udûn and both bands merged at the same time. Orcs do not get along well at the best of times and this was no exception. Each orc was desperate to reach the Udûn and be done with the running and whips, so there was much fighting and screaming as each group of orcs tried to get onto the new road first. Snarling uruks waded into the fray, hurling combatants apart and making liberal use of their whips.

Sam held tightly onto Frodo, afraid his master would collapse and be trampled. Then, spying a break in the mob, he fell to his hands and knees and dragged Frodo after him to the side of the road. Quickly he helped Frodo over the edge of the curb to the dark slope below. As he did so, he heard a slight "clink" as something hit the rocks nearby. However, without a moment to spare, Sam followed Frodo over the edge.

Frodo lay panting on a rocky patch a few feet below the level of the road. "Come along, Mr. Frodo!" Sam whispered urgently helping his master up, "Just a little further!" They crawled as far as Frodo's strength would allow, then collapsed behind some boulders. Sam took his cloak from Frodo and covered them both. Unthinking, he reached inside his tunic to make sure his treasures from the Lady Galadriel were safe and froze. The box was there all right, but where was the phial with the Light of Elendil? It was gone! Desperately, Sam groped through his pockets and his pack, but it was nowhere to be found. He looked at his master lying unconscious beside him. It was really Frodo's gift he had lost and Sam must find it! It was then he remembered the noise he had heard on the road. He must have dropped the phial while helping Frodo off the road. Well, there was nothing to be done but to retrieve it. He simply couldn't leave it for those foul orcs to find. Plus, it might serve as a warning and bring their enemies out searching for them.

Quietly, Sam took off his bulky pack and slipped out from under the cloak. Making sure his master was well hidden, the determined gardener retraced his steps back to the road's edge. Chaos still reigned and Sam hoped he could find the phial before it was discovered or broken. Still on his hands and knees, he searched frantically in the area where he thought it might have fallen. Moment after dreadful moment went by and more than one howling orc tripped over Sam in the darkness. His heart was beating faster and faster and he could feel sweat dripping down his face. Where could it be! Then, just as he was about to give up, his hand felt the phial's comforting smooth curves. With a sigh of relief, he grabbed it and stuffed it into his tunic making sure it was secure this time. He turned to make his way back over the edge, when he felt a strong hand roughly grab him and yank him to his feet. It was the whip-wielding uruk.

"Well, well!" growled the orc-driver as he gave Sam a hard shake. "Tryin' to desert again, are you? Where's yer runty little friend, eh?" The uruk peered around in the dark and over the edge of the road. Grunting in irritation the monster turned back towards Sam. Terrified that he would be found out, Sam kept his head lowered, grateful he still had on his orc gear.

"Well, I've no time to look for 'im. You, on the other hand, I'm not lettin' outa my sight 'til we're in Udûn. Then yer own chief can have you." The uruk gave a cruel laugh. "Attemptin' to desert twice? I wouldn't wanta be you!" With that, he gave Sam a painful shove that sent the ill-fated hobbit sprawling. Scrambling to his feet to avoid the uruk's whip, Sam resumed his agonizing journey towards the Black Gates. He was trapped.


	2. Frodo's Dilemma

Frodo moaned softly as he slowly came to himself. His eyes flickered opened and he looked about, puzzled. Where was he? It took him some moments to recall the nightmarish journey with the orcs and his and Sam's fortunate escape. In the dim light, Frodo realized he was covered by Sam's Lothlorien cloak. Carefully, he sat up, pulling the cloak away from his head. He was in a small space inside a group of boulders. The light was murky and it was difficult for Frodo to see any distance beyond his hiding place. He leaned against one of the boulders for a few moments to gather his strength, then clumsily, climbed to his feet. His muscles were stiff and screamed with pain. Running with the orcs had taken its toll.

Looking at his feet, he spied Sam's pack, along with the water bottle. Reaching down, Frodo lifted the bottle to his lips and took a small swig of water. He closed his eyes and sighed with relief. Even that little bit was heaven. Suddenly he frowned and stared at the bottle in his hand. Where was Sam? If he had gone to look for more water, surely he would have taken the bottle with him. Frodo stood straighter and peered about, trying to find his friend.

"Sam?" he called quietly. Not knowing if anyone was about, he did not wish to risk discovery. Cautiously, he crept from his sanctuary and peered into the gloom. He could see the road some distance behind him and in front, were miles of broken wasteland. Frodo studied the ground before him. Kneeling to examine the footprints he saw there, Frodo easily recognized their tracks coming into the hiding place and after a few moments, he spied others leading away. Frodo frowned again. These prints, undoubtedly Sam's, were leading back towards the road!

Frodo stood once more and stared out towards the way they had come. The road was empty now, or at least appeared to be. Another road joined it from the east and both headed into the Udûn where Sauron's hordes were gathering. It was daytime now, such as it was in Mordor's gloom, and although orcs mainly moved by night, here in Mordor, they were constantly active. More might appear at any time.

Cautiously, Frodo followed the tracks hoping they would lead him to his friend, but when he finally admitted that they simply returned to the road, he halted and stared blankly at the steep hill leading back up to the flat surface of the causeway. Why would Sam return here? Painfully, the hobbit crawled up to the top and looked around. There was no one to be seen in either direction. Sam was not there. Feeling ill and defeated, Frodo slid back down to the bottom. This simply made no sense. He knew Sam had been beside him when they had hidden amongst the boulders, but that was the last thing Frodo could recall. Had the orcs somehow managed to recapture Sam and taken him with them into Udûn? If that were the case, what was Frodo to do? Frodo slumped to the ground and leaned wearily against the hillside. Despondent, he rested his aching head upon his knees. How could he go on without Sam? _I suppose I could wait awhile and see if he returns_, Frodo thought bleakly, _But, if he doesn't, what should I do then? Should I try to find him or should I go on to Orodruin alone?_

His heart told him to search for his friend; after all, hadn't Sam risked everything to rescue his master in the tower of Cirith Ungol? Sam could have simply continued on and left Frodo to his fate, but he didn't. He remained true and faithful. But, things were different now. Frodo didn't have Sam's physical strength and to try and rescue Sam might be more than Frodo could endure in his current weakened state. If he were captured, the Ring would be lost to him and returned to Sauron. That simply could not be allowed to happen; all would be lost. So much more was at stake than the life of one hobbit, no matter how dear he was to Frodo. It was a terrible dilemma and Frodo knew he must choose the greater good of destroying the Ring over saving his friend, but how he could live with himself afterwards remained to be seen. He gave a small, humorless laugh. That was assuming there was even going to _be_ an afterwards. He truly did not believe he would ever see his friends or the Shire again. He doubted very much he could ever make it to Mt. Doom on his own. He was fully aware of how much responsibility Sam had shouldered since they had entered the lands of the Dark Lord. It was all Frodo could do just to _carry_ the Ring. Sam had taken care of everything else. But he was gone now and everything would be up to Frodo.

Frodo rose to his feet and stumbled back to his hiding place in the boulders. With a pang, he realized that Sam had left everything there – his pack with the remaining food as well as the water. Sam would have nothing. Wearily, Frodo sank to the ground and again buried his throbbing head in his hands. Tears pricked at his eyes and if he had had an extra ounce of moisture in his body, he knew the tears would be falling freely. Frodo always knew there was the possibility of losing one of his friends, but he somehow never really believed that it would be Merry, Pippin, or Sam. He had been shocked and saddened by Boromir's death and Gandalf's had shaken him to his very core, but losing Sam was like losing his own heart. Of course, he thought with a small spark of hope, he didn't really know that Sam was _dead_, just missing. If he could escape the orcs, then he might make it to safety. Frodo gave a small smile. If anyone could do it, it was Samwise Gamgee. Time and time again he had proven his worth to the quest and Frodo would have to hold on to that hope, small as it was. Perhaps he and Sam would be reunited one day in a happier place. He vowed that if he succeeded in his quest and survived, he would return to look for his friend.

Frodo looked over the things in the pile. He knew he was too weak to carry much more than the barest essentials: the remaining Lembas, the water, and Sam's Lothlorien cloak. The rest would have to stay. He frowned briefly as he pored through the hodgepodge of items in Sam's pack. The light of Elendil was not there. Sam must have had it with him. Frodo sighed. It seemed he was losing everything of value on this journey. He then gently lifted each of Sam's precious pots and pans and set them aside. "I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered sadly, "I know how much you treasured these, but they're just too much for me now." Then, hefting the much-lightened pack, Frodo settled it onto his back, looked once more towards Udûn, and began his tortuous trek towards Mt. Doom. There was no one to help him now.


	3. In the Arms of the Enemy

Chapter 3 In the Arms of the Enemy

Every muscle in Sam's overworked body screamed in agony. All he wanted to do was stop running, collapse and preferably die if that would allow him some peace. However, the fierce uruk never let Sam out of his sight and the miserable hobbit's legs were criss-crossed with angry red welts. His breath came in rasping gulps which never provided enough oxygen. At times, spots danced before his blurred vision, but he refused to lose consciousness knowing that it would undoubtedly result in his death. He had to survive to escape and find Mr. Frodo. The thought of his failing master alone in Mordor without his Sam to help him was the only thing that kept Sam going.

They were almost to the teeming encampment. The screams and chaos of the thousands of unruly orcs assaulted Sam's senses like a physical blow. He was desperately thirsty and his tongue felt twice its normal size. He tried to not to think of his old water bottle, now in his master's possession. Sam knew that if he did not find water soon, he would collapse. However, more importantly, he had to get away from the orc-driver and his whip. If Sam was actually turned over to his "commander", it would go ill for him. He was amazed his disguise, feeble as it was, had held up this long. If it hadn't been so dark and chaotic, Sam thought grimly, he probably would have been eaten by the orcs long before now!

As more and more orcs poured into the Udûn, it became increasingly difficult for each uruk to keep his band together. Anxiously Sam watched for an opportunity to slip away from the mob, believing that if he could get away, he could hide somewhere in the rocks of the surrounding cliffs. Sauron had many watchtowers on the high cliffs surrounding the dale and deep armories churning out more weapons for the amassed armies. It would be nigh impossible for Sam to actually escape from the Udûn given the only entry points were the bridge at the Isenmouthe and the Black Gate, but if he could hide, perhaps he could survive until the armies marched forth.

At last his chance came. The orcs around him were pressed closely together; so closely, Sam thought he would faint from the pressure. They were blocked from moving any further by yet another anxious band of orcs trying to make their way to their encampment. Their uruk roared obscenities at the Sam's uruk, and the two waded through the milling, screeching mob determined to tear each other apart. The smaller orcs crowed in eager anticipation of blood. Sam saw this as his opportunity to escape. Dropping to his knees he began to laboriously crawl through the legs of the throng. Despite being stepped on, cursed and kicked, Sam persevered until he finally found a gap large enough to allow him to stand and scurry away from the frenzied mass. The other orcs on the fringes seemed more interested in the commotion going on between the sparring uruks than in one small orc hurrying away into the darkness.

Gasping for breath, Sam stumbled through the maze of rocks and ditches, trying to make his way to the cliffs while at the same time avoiding the camps of the orcs. At the bottom of one ditch, he came upon a puddle of foul water, but so great was Sam's thirst that he threw caution to the wind and swallowed as much as he could scoop up. _I'll probably regret this later_, he thought weakly, but he felt even that meager relief was worth the risk. Turning, he again started making his way towards the sanctuary of the cliffs, when abruptly; he felt his legs go out from under him. An instant later he found himself flipped onto his back and staring into the leering face of a slavering orc above him! "Just where do ya think yer goin', runt?" growled the orc peering down at Sam closely. "Not thinkin' of runnin' off, are ya?"

In panic Sam began struggling, knowing that he was doomed unless he escaped immediately, but it was already too late. He felt the orc's grip tighten on him and heard a sharp intake of breath. "Wait a moment!" whispered the orc in surprise, "What do we have here?" In one quick moment, the orc tore Sam's helm from his head, revealing the hobbit's horrified face. The orc began to laugh softly, his eyes gleaming menacingly. "Well, well, well. Could this be the missin' shire-rat we've heard so much about? Come to join the Dark Lord's army have we?" He laughed again as he studied Sam appraisingly. "Now, what to do with you? I could turn you in to my commander but to what purpose? If yer a spy, they'll just do you in and I'll get nothin' out of it. But…" the orc's eyes narrowed as his dark tongue ran over his lips, "I could just stick you now; get a decent meal, and no one would be the wiser!" Sam stared at him in wide-eyed horror. This seemed to please the orc greatly, his grin growing ever wider. His eyes never left Sam's as he leaned back to pull a wicked looking knife from his belt. Sam trembled, knowing his time had come. But then, he thought of his master. If Sam died, he would never be able to help Frodo complete his task and monsters like this creature would rule over Middle Earth. Sam couldn't simply allow that to happen without a fight!

With unexpected strength, Sam pushed with his legs and managed to flip over, tumbling the surprised orc off of him. Sam scurried forward, trying to make the cover of the nearby rocks, when he felt something grab his foot. Without conscious thought, Sam yanked Sting from its scabbard and hacked at the orc holding him. The orc howled in pain as Sting neatly severed its hand from its arm, black blood spurting dramatically. Sam quickly gained his feet and with a mighty swing, lopped off the hideous head of his astonished enemy. The hobbit watched in shock as the orc's bloody corpse slumped to the ground. "Samwise Gamgee!" he gasped softly, "What have you done?" He looked around fearfully, certain that other orcs must have spotted him, but the others still concentrated the melee within the camp. Suddenly aware of Sting's obvious glow, Sam hurriedly thrust the bloody sword back into its scabbard, grabbed his helm and with his heart pounding in his ears, fled into the darkness.

Scrambling over rocky debris, Sam reached the foot of the cliffs and spied a small opening behind some boulders. Much too small for most orcs, it was large enough to Sam to slip through and into a small cramped space beyond. Exhausted and in shock, Sam collapsed to the ground. There was just enough room for him to lie down as long as he curled himself up. He shivered uncontrollably; the horrible orc cloak seemed to provide little warmth. He lay there in terror, listening to the blood-curdling screams and roars of the slavering orcs outside. What was he going to do? Would they suspect an intruder when they found the orc's body or would they assume some other orc had killed him? Sam also had no food or water. Even Lembas bread would have been welcome. And what about Mr. Frodo? How was Sam to get back to his master? Sam knew Frodo was not in any condition to journey to Mt. Doom alone, yet Sam could see no way to get back to him. Despite his myriad of worries, Sam's body could go no further, and the exhausted gardener fell into blissful unconsciousness.

Many miles away, another exhausted hobbit collapsed under the meager protection of an overhanging rock. The Ringbearer took a deep breath and wearily leaned his aching head on the rock. Frodo felt as if he had traveled a hundred miles that day when in reality, he knew it was no more than 3 or 4 leagues. It was growing darker now. He had decided it was best to travel during the daylight hours for even though Mordor was a murky place during the best of times, the orcs still preferred to travel by the dark of night and Frodo believed he was less likely to meet up with any of Sauron's troops during the day. Listlessly, he lifted the water bottle to his lips and drank deeply. He had been conserving the water as best he could, but he felt so desperately thirsty he knew he must drink. However, he had no idea where he would find more.

He sat up and leaned back against the rock face trying to ignore the insistent whisperings of the Ring. The deeper into Mordor he traveled, the more strident became the Ring's call. Absently, his hand wandered to his breast where the Ring lay like a malevolent parasite. With a cry of disgust, Frodo took hold of himself and pulled his hand away. "Oh Sam!" he moaned in despair. "How will I ever do this without you?"


	4. Sam Alone

Chapter 4 Sam Alone

It was midday when Sam awoke in his small hiding place. With a low moan he slowly sat up pulling the orc cloak closer around him. He felt terrible. He hadn't eaten in almost two days and he was desperately in need of water. His muscles and joints were so stiff and sore, he had to bite back a cry of pain as he carefully straightened his legs. He was shivering violently and his stomach clenched painfully. _I've got to find some water_, he thought grimly. He also feared that the water he drank the night before had made him ill, but there was no help for it now. He needed to find more and food if possible. He wondered if the orcs even ate anything suitable for a hobbit.

Gingerly, he crawled to the slit-like opening in the rock and peered out. It was never very light in Mordor, but Sam could tell that it was daytime nonetheless. Orcs loathe the daylight and even the limited amount was irritating to them. Most were hiding in tent-like structures made of poorly tanned hides. A few of the large uruks could be seen in the distance for the light did not bother them. Sam was relieved to see that the death of one orc didn't seem to bother anyone. At least no one seemed to be investigating. Orcs were just as happy to eat one of their own as any other prey and Sam suspected other orcs had neatly disposed of the body during the night. Near the edge of the camp, Sam spied what appeared to be a water barrel. It sat on a flat-topped rock; a small spigot near its base. Sam's thirst had become almost a living thing, tormenting him unceasingly. His tongue was so swollen it seemed to fill his mouth and thoughts of water were almost painful. Slowly, he crept towards the barrel hoping that it was indeed water and not something foul. No one paid attention to the small figure as it moved stealthily forward. As he passed a pile of refuse, Sam noticed a small clay pot. Its top was broken, but the rest of it appeared sound. He picked it up and shook out the dirt. This would do to hold at least a bit of water to take back with him. He also noticed a small breastplate, too small for most orcs, but would fit him well enough. He found a few other pieces of discarded armor and ragged garments. These would help disguise him better than his simple orc cloak, he thought grimly. He placed them in a small pile near his cave and returned to his task We he finally reached the barrel, Sam tentatively reached forward to turn the spigot and watched eagerly as a small trickle of water dribbled forth. With a sigh of relief, Sam filled his pot with water and drank deeply. Never had anything tasted so sweet. Quickly, he refilled his pot, glancing about as he did so for signs that he had been detected. All was quiet. Quickly, Sam gulped down another potful of water, then, fearing detection, he filled it one last time and scurried back to his hiding place. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Sam carefully placed his pot in a small niche in the rocks to ensure he didn't knock it over. It was all he had and he knew he had been extraordinarily lucky to get the little he did. He then replaced his hobbit clothing with the vile orc garments he had scavenged. They reeked and were somewhat too large, but at least they blended in with the orcs around him in the camp. With a sigh, he settled back down onto the cold stone floor pillowing his head with his old clothing. His stomach roiled and cramped with the water he had so hastily consumed and he fought to keep it down. The chills were back and he became aware again of his pounding head and aching muscles. His eyes felt leaden and despite his best efforts, Sam was soon asleep.

Sam remembered little of the following day. As he lay shivering in his hole, his sleep was plagued by fever-fueled nightmares. Giant trolls and orcs, screaming Ring Wraiths, and fiery monsters with blazing eyes chased him through blasted landscapes of darkness and foul mists. Gollum appeared with the Ring in his hand and crying triumphantly in his snake-like hiss: "The preciousss isss mine! The master is no more! Stupid hobbitses!" And through it all, he could hear his master calling for him; Frodo's voice hoarse with desperation and fear. But no matter where Sam turned, Frodo was nowhere to be found. He was lost.

Finally, on the morning of the third day after his capture by the orcs, Sam awoke, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. He could barely breathe in the close confines of his cave and he had become so weak, he could barely lift his aching head. He took several calming breaths as his befuddled mind tried to make sense of where he was. He carefully reached over and snagged his pot of water. He was relieved to see it was still there for he feared he had simply imagined finding water. He feebly pushed himself up and drank as much as he dared. He was dimly aware he had not eaten in days, but he had no appetite. He lay back down and began to consider his predicament but found himself drifting off.

Again, he struggled to sit up, hoping to clear his head a little. He knew he was badly dehydrated and malnourished. As long as the orcs were around, there was little hope of his escaping and getting back to Mr. Frodo. Even if the orcs left, Sam thought ruefully, in his current condition, there was little hope of him finding his master. He wondered how Frodo was doing and worried that with his burden of the Ring and no Sam to help him, Frodo might not make it to the Cracks of Doom alone. "If only I hadn't dropped the Lady's light," Sam berated himself. "It's all my fault!" Carefully, he reached into the pocket of his hobbit trousers and worriedly groped for the phial. Relieved to feel its smooth contours beneath his fingers, he felt a little less lonely. He then placed it carefully inside his orc clothing. Exploring his pocket further, he was astounded to find a small piece of Lembas bread caught at the bottom. Pulling it out, he stared at it in disbelief. It must have been left from one of the times he split his share in half, stretching it out so that Frodo could have more. No matter, he knew he needed to eat, despite his lack of appetite and he fervently hoped this almost magical elven bread would help restore his strength. Slowly, he nibbled at the small piece until it was gone. Sipping more water, he was surprised to find he felt marginally better.

With a sigh, he lay back onto the cold stone floor and closed his eyes. He continued to worry about what to do next when he heard a harsh voice outside start to shout. "Awright you maggots! I want every one of those cowards hiding in the caves drug out and brought here to me! I don't want you missin' even one! We'll show them what happens to deserters!" Heart pounding, Sam abruptly sat up and grabbed his helm. Jamming it hurriedly onto his aching head, he scrambled to the narrow opening of his hiding place and peered out anxiously. His eyes widened with horror as he observed several small orcs swarming over the face of the cliff, periodically disappearing into hidden holes and dragging out other squirming, terrified orcs who had taken shelter there. Apparently Sam was not the only one wishing to avoid the orc army. These deserters were dragged to the bottom and dumped unceremoniously at the feet of a huge uruk-hai. Cowering, the small orcs tried to avoid the painful welts being dealt out by the uruk's snapping lash. Breathing heavily, Sam backed away, his head spinning. If they caught him, it wouldn't take them long to realize he was no orc. What was he going to do now?

Author: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! I have debated about two different paths this story could take, but for now, I will go with the original and perhaps later do the second version as a different story. Thanks again!


	5. Journey Into Hell

Chapter 5 Journey into Hell

Frodo stood on the edge of a crevasse and stared bleakly at the tumbled terrain below. How was he ever going to get across _that_? He sank onto a small boulder and fumbled for the water bottle dangling at his side. He sipped it carefully, knowing that a refill could be very long in coming. He had managed to refill it several times from cisterns he had found along the Road, but that seemed ages ago. Here in the wilderness, he had only located one small spring of drinkable water. He stared at the bottle sadly as thoughts of Sam threatened to overwhelm him. Frodo knew that the extra rations resulting from Sam's absence was one of the few things that kept him going. The weight of the Ring was growing with each passing hour, and Frodo felt as if he were being crushed beneath it. Its voice grew more insistent as well and Frodo could sense the fiery Eye always searching; searching. If he had taken the time to truly consider his position, he would have thrown himself to the ground and given up in despair. There was no friendly face to comfort him or a concerned voice urging him on. He was totally alone; alone that is except for the small, ravaged figure furtively following him in the distance.

Frodo stared at the dark visage of Orodruin glowering down upon him. Its base was obscured by mists of foul gases seeping from the cracks in the mountain's ruined sides. Frodo could already feel the fumes burning his throat and eyes and he knew it would only get worse the closer he got to Mt. Doom. _You don't have to do this._ The soft, insinuating voice, his all too common companion, quietly suggested. _You are tired and ill. It does not have to be this way. Why should you kill yourself for all those others? They do not care about you. They let you go alone to your doom knowing you would fail! What do you owe them?_ I _am your only friend! _Staring sightlessly ahead, mesmerized by the soothing whispers of the Ring, Frodo's hand slowly edged its way towards the small band of gold dangling on its chain at Frodo's breast. What _did_ he owe them? All they had cared about was the Ring, not him! Even Sam had abandoned him at the end! _Sam_. Frodo blinked at the thought of his missing companion, then shaking his head in disgust he realized what he had almost done. Reluctantly he pulled his hand down and held it firmly with his other. He could not lower his guard! He must not listen to the accursed Ring and its false promises and lies! _Sam_ did care about him and would never have purposefully deserted his master.

Frodo rubbed his eyes and understood that he must keep Sam in his thoughts. Even though the faithful gardener was not physically present, his memory could keep Frodo going. He smiled faintly as in his mind he could hear Sam begging and cajoling him to keep going. "_Just a little bit further, Mr. Frodo," _Sam would say_, "Then we can rest and have a bite to eat! Just a little further…" _Frodo wearily climbed to his feet. _Yes, Sam,_ he thought, _I'll keep going. Then, I'll come find you!_ With a deep sigh, he searched for a way into the ravine and the small, miserable hobbit continued his fated journey.

It took him several hours, but finally Frodo emerged on the far side of the ravine. Panting in exhaustion, he collapsed on the ash-covered ground. The air was noticeably worse on this side and he knew he was getting close to his destination. Painfully, he turned his head and again looked at the black mountain. Another's day march would get him there he thought dimly. Another day. How could he manage it? He closed his eyes and pulled himself into a tight, shivering ball. He could feel the fiery Eye searching for him. He knew its attention was primarily focused elsewhere to the west, but part of it remained alert to any sign of the Ring. Frodo felt so exposed here in the open and so scared. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake. He couldn't remember anything about the goodness or light of the world. The Shire was nothing more than a vague memory. His mouth could remember nothing but the taste of sand and ash. The thought of water was physically painful. He tried to focus on the job at hand. It was best if he thought of nothing else. _None of it is true, anyway, _said the Voice. _Destroying me will not save your friends. It will only insure their doom. But, I can save you. I can take your pain away. I can bring you peace, rest, relief... All that you crave. If you want to help the others, I can help you do that too. I can give you power! It can all be yours! All be yours… _ " NO!" Frodo abruptly sat up, the word erupting forcefully from his lips. "NO!" Shaking, he climbed to his feet. He knew his will was weakening. Maybe he could make it to Mt. Doom, but would he always be able to resist the siren call of the Ring? Would he be able to destroy the Ring before it destroyed him? Frodo shook his head in bemusement as he stumbled forward. Now there was a question for the Istari. Frodo had no idea of the answer and it terrified him most of all.

Although little more than a day, it seemed like weeks before Frodo finally reached the ravaged mountain and inch by agonizing inch, the hobbit now clawed his way up its the fire-blasted slope. His body, wracked by painful bouts of coughing, seemed to have a mind of its own. Lost in his internal battles with the Ring, Frodo was barely conscious of his surroundings. He did not feel the sharp rocks slashing his feet and hands, nor the noxious fumes from the volcano burning his throat and lungs. All that seemed to be happening to someone else. He must keep moving. He knew that if he stopped, he would never find the strength, either physically or emotionally, to continue. The quest would end just short of its goal, but it might as well be a hundred miles. The Ring would not be destroyed and it would be only a matter of time before it managed to make its way back to its true master. He felt so exposed, here in the heart of Sauron's domain. The Eye had but to turn its gaze toward the fiery mountain and it would spy one lone, ghostlike hobbit doggedly making his way through the ash and debris. But more than that, it would detect the Ring. The Nazgûl would be summoned and it would be over. Frodo gritted his teeth and pushed on.

He had no idea of how long he had been climbing, but he unexpectedly found himself sprawling upon a flat ledge. He lay still for a moment, panting painfully. Slowly raising his head, he discovered that he did not lie upon a ledge, but a road! It was Sauron's own road into the Sammath Naur but never would the Dark Lord have guessed that this path could lead to his undoing. For a moment longer, Frodo rested, then with difficulty, pushed himself to a sitting position. He felt numb. He was past feeling pain, or emotion, or anything at all. Dully, he turned and stared up the road as it led up to the mountain. That was the way he must go. He must find the Cracks of Doom and there, destroy the Ring. He climbed to his feet and swayed unsteadily. It had been a long time since he had eaten or drunk and sleep was a distant memory. But, it was almost over, he told himself grimly. Just a little further and his task would be finished. Then, he could rest. Shoulders slumped and head bowed beneath the overwhelming weight of the Ring, Frodo turned and plodded forward.

Although the road was easier than climbing the side of the mountain, it was not an effortless course. The volcano had erupted many times and although most of the lava had been released on the other side of the mountain, there were huge boulders and deep crevasses to navigate. Time and time again he stumbled and fell, but somehow, he managed to find the strength to regain his feet and struggle on but each step was harder than the last. The Ring, feeling the danger to its own existence, continued its wheedling and coaxing murmurs. Frodo found himself in constant battle with his own body. His hand repeatedly made its way towards the Ring, eager to feel its cool curves around its finger. "No!" sobbed Frodo gaining control once more. He knew he was weakening; his resistance to the Ring's call was failing quickly. Anxiously, he peered ahead and with a mixture of relief and terror, spied an opening in the face of the mountain wall. Frodo had reached the Cracks of Doom.


	6. Into Battle

Chapter 6 Into Battle

Sam anxiously peered out again. The uruks and their orc searchers were concentrating on the rock wall to the right of where Sam was hiding. Quickly, he donned the rest of his scavenged armor and buckled Sting into place. Sam looked around and seeing a group of gathering orcs, took a chance and crawled from his refuge and crept cautiously toward the mob. The others barely glanced at him, as they avidly watched the hapless deserters being dragged from their holes and beaten. _Orcs surely do enjoy watching each other suffer,_ thought Sam in disgust but now he was forced to deal with his own problems. Perhaps he could go back to his hole when the uruks had left, but it soon became obvious that be impossible. Sam looked out towards the rest of the camp and saw it was teeming with activity. The orc army was getting ready to move out! Fear clenched at Sam's stomach as he realized he was about to be forced to go into battle against his own side! He now peered around frantically for a way out – someplace to hide, but it was no use. Another uruk had come behind the group of orcs Sam stood near and was screaming orders and herding them, along with the deserters, towards the front of the column of orc-soldiers now forming along the length of the Udûn. With horror, Sam spied one small orc trying to escape from the horde. A huge uruk grabbed him and with seemingly no effort snapped the smaller creature's neck and threw the body towards the orcs nearby. Immediately, these fell upon the victim and in no time had consumed the corpse leaving nothing but blood and gore staining the sandy soil at their feet. If Sam had had anything in his stomach, he knew he would have lost it then. As it was, all he could do was take a few deep breaths to steady himself and to banish the faintness he could feel threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn't be weak now, or he would suffer a similar fate.

Shakily, Sam allowed himself to be shuffled along with the rest and soon settled into his place in line. His hand brushed against Sting resting against his hip. What would the orcs think, he wondered idly, if he drew the elven blade, glowing its blue warning. With this many orcs around, it would be blazing! As he stood there, an uruk made its way down the line handing out short spears, suitable for the smaller orcs. Sam stared in dismay at the unfamiliar weapon thrust into his hand. Its haft felt cold and dead in his trembling grip. Sam could not imagine himself using it against a soldier of the West. Then he frowned and looked sideways at the orc standing to his left. He could, however imagine using it against an orc! Slowly a plan began to form in his mind. He might not be able to help Frodo, but if he was going to be forced into a battle, he would do his best to help the enemies of the orcs! He hefted the spear, getting a feel for its weight and balance. Yes, he thought again, if he had anything to say about it, it would be orcs feeling the point of this spear! He had little doubt that he would survive this fight. Either orcs seeing what he was doing would do him in or one of the soldiers from the West would take him for an orc. Never mind. He would do what he could and if it meant his life, well so be it. It was in a good cause after all. Sam straightened his shoulders and tried to feel brave, but he was one small, frightened hobbit surrounded by an army of bloodthirsty orcs. He was ill and starving, but his terror kept him on his feet..

Sam closed his eyes, trying to shut out the roars of the uruks and the snarling cries of the orcs. The stench was horrific, but Sam found he was better able to bear it than when he had first been taken by the orcs. He knew there were other foul creatures in this army. He had spied several huge trolls lumbering towards their position in the front. Abruptly, his eyes flew open as a terrifying, unearthly scream sounded overhead. Shaking, Sam instinctively ducked his head. The Nazgûl soared above the teeming horde of Sauron's army. Sam was gratified to see the orcs around him also cowering in the wake of the Dark Lord's most fearsome minions. Obviously, the Black Riders were popular with no one!

It was with a sigh of relief that Sam felt the terror caused by the Nazgûl slowly seep from his quivering body. He allowed himself a cautious peek and could see them wheeling away towards the Black Gate. Feeling weak, he supported himself with the spear, fearing his legs would give way. He was feeble enough as it was without those foul creatures hanging about making things worse! With every passing moment, Sam wished more and more he was back in the relative safety of his little hole in the cliff.

His mind began to wander as he stood there amidst the bedlam and he thought of Frodo as he so often did. How was his master getting on? Had he made it to Mt. Doom or was he lying somewhere injured or worse in the wastelands of the Gorgoroth Plains? Again he felt a pain of guilt. He should never have been so careless as to lose the Lady's gift and he certainly should never have gone back for it, leaving his beloved Frodo alone! If the quest failed, it would be _his_ fault. Sam felt as if a very heavy weight had settled on his shoulders. Now, he would never escape the orcs and Frodo would never know what had become of his Sam. The image of Frodo wandering lost and ill with no one to help him, brought the sting of tears to Sam's burning eyes. His poor, poor master!

Suddenly, Sam was shaken from his reverie by the harsh, blaring wail of orc battle horns. This was answered by the ear-splitting howls and screams of orcs, eager for blood and destruction. Sam felt physically assailed by the sound and feared, again, he would collapse. But, Samwise Gamgee was no coward and he had a very strong sense of self-preservation. If he could escape, so be it, but he had no idea what the impeding battle would be like. The vast army of orcs in the valley was overwhelming and Sam could not imagine how the armies of the West could possibly match these numbers. He had no idea Strider was leading them or that its main purpose was to buy time for Frodo. The soldiers from Rohan and Gondor had no more hope of surviving this battle than did Sam himself. It was all for Frodo.

With the cry of the horns, the uruks began shouting orders. With much noise and enthusiasm, the column began to move forward as the Black Gates began to slowly swing open. The time for battle had come and Sam was in the middle of it.

As Sam trudged along, his fear and trepidation grew with each step. He clutched his spear with a white knuckled desperation that belied his calm demeanor. He dared not display any of the terror that raced through his soul, knowing that his foul companions showed none themselves. They were eagerly anticipating the carnage to come. Sam's mouth was so dry, his tongue felt three times too large and it was impossible to swallow. _Well,_ he thought to himself dryly, _If I do get wounded, I'm so parched I'm not likely to bleed much! _His head snapped up as he detected a change in the sounds ahead. The orcs had met with their enemies and Sam could hear their bloodcurdling screams and the chilling sound of clashing arms. Sam felt himself being forced onward as the orcs behind, eager for blood, surged towards the battlefield.

Sam feared he would be crushed as the mass of orcs forced itself through the constriction of the Black Gates. All he could do was fight to keep his feet to avoid being trampled. Around him orcs and uruk hai fought each other in their attempts to get through first. Apparently none of them wanted to avoid the battle now that it was upon them. The smell of blood had worked them into a frenzy and the Fiery Eye's control was firmly upon them. They _had _to fight. The crowd around Sam pushed harder than ever and the hobbit fought desperately to breathe. He could feel panic rising from within him and black spots began to dance before his eyes. Then, just as he began to lose consciousness, the pressure eased as more orcs passed through the gate. Coughing and retching, Sam stumbled on, orcs jostling him on every side, but at least he could breathe. Still gulping air, Sam gaped about him in horror. He was now in the midst of the battle! With a cry of fear, he hastily ducked, just avoiding the sword whistling over his head. He looked up and saw the large Man, heavily clad in armor, now battling one of the uruks, having forgotten the small "orc". Quickly assessing the situation, Sam turned his own spear and grimly slashed the powerful leg of the uruk. The monster roared in surprise and whirled about looking for his attacker. That gave the Man the opportunity he was waiting for and with a powerful thrust, ran the uruk through, killing him instantly. Satisfied, Sam melted away into the chaos. He knew what he had to do. The time for standing by was over.


	7. The Fields of Conflict

Chapter 7 The Fields of Conflict

Frodo stopped for a moment, gaping at the dark entryway into the mountain. He felt his resolve slipping away and his hand again, reaching for the Ring. It was at that moment, when he stood on the very brink of surrender that Gollum struck. Leaping from atop a large boulder, Gollum flung himself upon the unsuspecting hobbit, knocking Frodo to the ground. "NOOOOOOO!" screamed the wizened creature, barely recognizable as Gollum. The journey across Mordor had not been kind to him. "Wicked Masster! Must not hurt the Precious! Master lies to usss! Wicked, wicked massster!" Struggling against the flailing grasp of Gollum, Frodo managed to heave himself up, knocking Gollum aside. Eyes blazing, he whirled to meet his attacker. Scooping up a nearby rock, Frodo hurled it at Gollum, striking his wraithlike foe painfully in the head. Gollum retreated with an angry scream of pain but cowered beneath Frodo's fiery gaze. "Please, Master!" he whimpered cringing at Frodo's feet, "Please, good Master! Please, don't hurts us!"

"Be gone!" roared Frodo wrathfully "If you come near me again, I shall cast _you_ into the fires of Mt. Doom! Your time is at an end and you cannot betray me ever again!" Quivering, Gollum slowly backed away, his lamp-like eyes bleak with the knowledge that the destruction of the Precious would be the end of him as well. Frodo glared at Gollum a moment longer, then, without another glance, he whirled and strode purposefully towards the opening to Sammath Naur. Gollum watched as the hobbit disappeared into the darkness, then with a gleam of desperation in his own eyes, he followed to the doorway and silently dissolved into the gloom.

Frodo gasped for air as he staggered along the pathway towards the red glow ahead. He knew the fiery heart of Orodruin lay before him and it was there he must cast the Ring. He shambled to a halt at the edge of the precipice and stared down at the seething river of lava flowing below him. He pulled the Ring from its chain and held it firmly in his hand preparing to fling it to its final destruction. It felt heavy and warm, almost alive. Slowly, he opened his hand and stared at it. He began to shake as it called to him again, imploring and beguiling. He could be the true Master and save all of Middle Earth! Yes, the Power could all be _his_! He, Frodo Baggins of the Shire could destroy all the evil in the earth! He could return peace and happiness to the world and life would return to normal. No one need suffer ever again. Staring into space, mesmerized by the image of such a world, Frodo finally yielded, unable to fight any longer. A vague smile formed on his cracked and bleeding lips. "I do not choose to do this thing," he rasped, his eyes vacant. "The Ring is mine!" With that, he slipped the Ring onto his finger and disappeared.

On a field many miles from where Frodo struggled for his soul another battle ensued; the battle for Middle Earth. There, the Horse-lord Eomer wiped the blood and sweat from his brow, panting with exhaustion. Another dead and bloodied orc lay at his feet. How many had he killed so far? He had no idea. They came at him in a constant stream and he hacked them down like so much cordwood. His only saving grace was that most of them did not know the first thing about fighting. Their only advantage, and it was a big one, lay in their sheer overwhelming numbers. He glanced around quickly during this brief respite. He could see Aragorn fighting some distance away with the elf, Legolas nearby. Gandalf shone like an avenging angel as he brought down enemy after enemy. Then, in a moment, they were lost to sight as another band of orcs came surging forward. Raising his sword, dripping the black blood of many orcs, Eomer prepared to meet his next attacker. As the orc bore down upon him, its hideous face contorted with bloodlust and rage, Eomer took a step back only to find his feet slipping out from under him on the blood-slicked ground. He tried to regain his balance, but stumbled over the bodies of orcs that lay at his feet and he felt himself falling backwards, his sword knocked from his hand. He desperately scrabbled for his weapon but it had fallen beyond his reach. Looking up, Eomer heard the orc howl in victory, its bloodied sword hurtling down upon him. Suddenly, the orc froze a look of surprise on its face as it stared down at the oddly glowing blade emerging from its chest. Dropping it sword it collapsed to the ground revealing the small orc behind. Eomer gaped in amazement. It was one of the smallest orcs he had ever seen and in its hand was a brightly glowing blade. Eomer was further shocked to realize the blade was obviously of elven design. What kind of orc would carry an elf blade? He tried to make out the orc's features beneath its helm. The creature stared back at him with eyes mirroring exhaustion and horror, but also a certain exhilaration. Eomer blinked and in a moment, the orc was gone, swept away by another surge in the battle. Quickly, Eomer crawled over the corpses around him and retrieved his sword. Clambering to his feet, he began fighting anew and the odd orc was quickly forgotten the battle for against the hordes of the Dark Lord continued.

Frodo crowed in triumph, the Ring held aloft in victory. It was _his_ and no one could ever take it from him again! However, his exultation was short lived. With a hiss of anger, Gollum flung himself at Frodo, grabbing for the Ring. His soul had been so tainted by long exposure to the Ring's influence, he had no trouble seeing Frodo's invisible form. The two fought desperately, each determined to have the Ring for his own. Little did they realize that Sauron now aware of their presence in Sammath Naur, was horrified as he understood its implication. The Nazgûl were frantically winging their way towards Mt. Doom with all speed and Sauron's minions suddenly finding themselves without direction hesitated in their battles. The future of Middle Earth now literally stood on the brink of destruction.

Frodo fought hard, but he had underestimated the Ring's power over Gollum. Gasping, Gollum seized Frodo's hand and with no hesitation, bit down on the hobbit's finger severing it and separating Frodo from the Ring. With a cry of victory, Gollum flung the finger away and held the Ring tightly to his breast. "Mine!" he howled as he pranced in delight along the edge of the precipice, "The Precious is Mine!" His eyes closed in ecstasy, Gollum was unaware of his danger and with a final twirl, found himself toppling over the edge and into the fires of Mt. Doom. _"Presciousssssss!" _he screamed and then, all was silent.

Frodo lay sobbing; cradling his bleeding hand he gradually became conscious of his surroundings. He felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Shaking, he sat up and realized he had finally been released from the power of the Ring! It had been so long since he had been free, he did not quite know what to think or feel. He looked around the cavern with a new awareness. He had little memory of even entering this place but he quickly understood that if he did not leave immediately, he would die here. The mountain was erupting and huge plumes of smoke and fire were shooting upwards. Rocks were rumbling loose and falling all around him. For a moment. Frodo considered remaining there and being done with it all. He was so exhausted and tired of fighting. But, then he thought of Sam. What would Sam do? He would never give up and if Frodo surrendered here, he would never be able to go look for his friend. In that split instant, Frodo scrambled to his feet and digging deep within himself, found the strength to dash out of the cavern and out onto the road beyond. Rocks continued to rain down upon him as did clouds of noxious gas and ash. But Frodo ran on. He ran until he could run no longer. He found himself on a small prominence of rock and realizing it was dead end, turned only find his path had been swallowed up by the river of lava that now flowed around him. He was trapped. The air was thick and Frodo fought for breath. Slowly, he collapsed to the ground and closed his eyes. "I did it Sam," he whispered hoarsely. "I could never have done it without you!" He paused. "I'm sorry I can't come find you, but I know you would understand." He coughed deeply, knowing he had little time left. "Good- bye, Sam. He looked up into the sky, a tear trickling down his cheek. "Good-bye." He closed his eyes and gratefully accepted the darkness that swallowed him in its comforting embrace. He never saw the eagles with their white rider come swooping down through the plumes of ash and fire and deftly pluck him from his precipitous perch and soar off to the west. Gandalf made one last turn looking for a second figure, but when it quickly became obvious there could be no other survivor, he too turned and followed the others as Orodruin continued its explosive self-destruction. Sauron was destroyed.

Thank you again to everyone who has read my story thus far and special thanks to those of you who have reviewed it. I truly appreciate it!


	8. Secrets of the Battlefield

Chapter 8 Secrets of the Battlefield

Eomer walked across the camp. He was exhausted, but never had he felt more exhilarated. They had succeeded in bringing down the Dark Lord and the world was about to change. He looked ahead and spied a small tent standing alone. Two figures sat disconsolately near its entrance. Eomer hailed them in greeting. Legolas and Gimli looked up and smiled grimly.

"I understand Gandalf has returned," said Eomer quietly. "Was he successful?"

Gimli and Legolas exchanged sorrowful glances. "Gandalf found one of the hobbits," replied Gimli with a catch in his voice. "He was able to rescue Frodo, but said there was no sign of Sam." There was great sadness in the eyes of both the dwarf and the elf clearly revealing to Eomer how much they felt the loss of the Ringbearer's companion.

"How fares the Ringbearer?" he asked looking towards the tent.

Legolas shrugged. "He lives. That is all we know. Aragorn and Gandalf are with him now, tending to his needs."

"And to Pippin's" added Gimli.

Eomer turned towards the Dwarf in concern. "Pippin?"

Gimli nodded. "I found him buried beneath a troll! I would have missed him completely if hadn't learned to identify hobbits by their feet!" He gave a small smile. He was very fond of all the hobbits. "Aragorn assures me that in time he will recover and be causing more mischief than ever!"

Eomer nodded slowly, again turning towards the tent; relieved to hear that the young hobbit would recover. Like Gimli, he too had become quite fond of both Merry and Pippin. The Rider wished to speak with Aragorn and although he knew it could wait, he was very curious to see the hobbit that had saved them all. He walked over to the tent's opening and peered in. On one side, he could see Pippin, sporting bandages about his head, peacefully sleeping. On the opposite side, he spied Aragorn and Gandalf sitting beside a small cot. A third cot lay empty. Quietly, Eomer stepped into the tent and approached the pair. Aragorn and Gandalf glanced up as he approached but said nothing. Eomer stared down at the haggard figure lying beneath the covers. His hand was heavily bandaged but he looked so starved and wasted, Eomer wondered that he was alive. Eomer turned to Aragorn and was shocked to see how drained the Ranger looked. Aragorn had had to expend much strength bringing Frodo back into the land of the living. Eomer moistened his lips. "This is Frodo?" he asked quietly.

Gandalf nodded his face sad and bleak. "This is Frodo." He repeated grimly.

Eomer stood quietly for a moment. "Will he live?"

Aragorn sighed. "I do not know. He is stronger than he looks and hobbits have an uncanny way of surviving injuries that would kill most people, but he feels the loss of the Ring deeply and even more so, he feels the loss of his friend, Samwise Gamgee."

"I looked for him," said Gandalf distantly, his voice rough, "I looked, but he was not there." He closed his eyes and lowered his head as if his pain and guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

Eomer again studied the Ringbearer with respect. He doubted anyone else could have accomplished what this one little hobbit from the Shire had done. His eyes wandered briefly around the tent when he spied a small pile of clothing in the corner. He bent down and picked up a tunic and studied it. "Orc?" he asked, frowning.

Aragorn glanced at the rags in Eomer's hand and nodded. "That is what he was wearing. He must have changed into orc garments to disguise himself going into Mordor."

Eomer nodded absently, but in his mind, he saw another very small figure dressed in orc armor. A figure no larger than this one. He turned again and stared at Frodo thinking hard. Frodo's companion had not been found but no one was sure what had happened to him. They assumed he was dead. But was he really? Eomer suddenly recalled the eyes of the small orc who had saved his life. There hadn't been time to think about it at the time, but now he realized those were _not_ the eyes of an orc. Could it possibly have been…? Blinking Eomer replaced the garment and bidding the others farewell, turned and hurried from the tent. Aragorn and Gandalf watched his hasty departure with some surprise, then, wearily returned to their vigil.

Legolas and Gimli looked up as Eomer exited. He hesitated a moment, then shaking his head hurried on. He briefly considered asking Legolas and Gimli to accompany him to the battle field to search amongst the corpses for one small orc with an elven blade, but if he was wrong and the orc was not the missing hobbit, Eomer was reluctant to get their hopes up.

Reaching the camp where the Rohirrim had settled, he searched for two stalwart riders. Beckoning them over, he explained his mission and swiftly they mounted horses tethered nearby. "Do you honestly believe this "orc" that saved your life could be the Ringbearer's missing companion?" asked one of the riders doubtfully.

"I am certain of nothing," replied Eomer tersely. "But why should an orc carry an elven blade and why would he slay one of his own comrades? Besides, the eyes I saw beneath that helm were _not_ those of an orc!" His two companions traded skeptical glances but urged their horses after their leader.

For hours the three Riders searched the carnage of the battlefield. The Men had recovered their fallen, but the dead of Sauron's armies still lay rotting where they had fallen. Eomer covered his mouth and nose with a kerchief in a feeble attempt to ward off the noxious fumes of the bodies. Orcs and trolls reeked at the best of times, but dead, they were ten times worse. Occasionally, they came upon an orc still alive. These they dispatched quickly and efficiently. They gained no pleasure in this but considered it part of their duty. Eomer scanned the bodies, frequently turning small ones over or searching beneath piles of corpses. So far, they had found nothing and Eomer was beginning to believe his search to be in vain.

He stood from examining the remains yet another diminutive orc, when he heard a distant cry. Looking up, he saw one of his men waving frantically to him. Leading his horse, he made his way through the maze of the dead, Eomer hurried over. "There!" cried the Rider pointing down a crevasse. Several orcs lay dead or dying at the bottom, some 10 feet below but what had caught the Rider's attention was a faint bluish glow amongst the bodies. It was growing dark now, and the glow was easy to make out, but would have likely been missed in the full of day. "Could that be your elven sword?" the second Rider asked, coming up behind.

Eomer studied the situation then turning to his horse, pulled out a coil of rope. Tying this firmly about his waist he handed the other end to his companions. Carefully they helped lower him down into the orc-filled fissure. Gingerly, Eomer climbed over the bodies, fighting to maintain his balance on the unsteady mound. Grunting with the effort, he managed to push aside several corpses as he tried to reach the glowing blade. Finally, after heaving one especially large uruk off to the side, Eomer was able to reach the sword. Cautiously, he reached down to pick it up, but hesitated when he noticed the small hand tightly clutching the hilt. Anxious now, he hauled another body out of the way to reveal an unusually small orc lying motionless amongst his fellows. Quickly, Eomer grabbed the creature and awkwardly flipped him over. For a moment, he studied the design of the armor and felt certain this was the orc that had saved his life. He tugged at the ghastly helm and finally working it off, tossed it aside. He stared at the dirty, blood-smeared face now lying in his lap. There was no doubt about it. This was certainly no orc. It was a hobbit!

"Did you find him?" called voice from above. Eomer turned and looked at the two faces peering down at him from the edge of the crevasse.

"Yes!" he replied. He looked back at the hobbit and quickly felt for a pulse. It was there, but very weak and thready. The hobbit's armor showed a large rent in the side where a blade had penetrated. It was sticky with blood. Eomer could tell the hobbit, Sam? (Was that what they called him?) had had a very tough time of it. He knew if there was any hope of saving Sam, Eomer must get him to Aragorn immediately. Sticking the glowing sword into his own belt, Eomer lifted the hobbit and placed him carefully over his shoulder. The Rider was surprised at how light he was. Eomer signaled his companions, and together, they hauled Eomer and the unconscious hobbit to the top. One of the Riders quickly took his cloak and spread it on the ground. Gently, Eomer lay Sam upon it and wrapped him securely. He turned to his men. "I must get him Aragorn immediately," he said urgently. He mounted his waiting steed and held out his arms for the bundle. "I will meet you back at camp." Then, Sam held securely in his grasp, Eomer spurred his horse forward, hoping he would be in time.


	9. Back Among Friends

Chapter 9 Back Among Friends

It was dark by the time Eomer finally reached camp. The Rider glanced down at his charge and was relieved to see that the hobbit was still alive. Sam's breathing was ragged and labored, but at least he _was_ breathing. Eomer slowed his horse to a trot as he navigated around tents and groups of soldiers. Many called out greetings to him, but he had no time for pleasantries and hurried onward. At last he spied the lone tent, the elf and dwarf still where he had seen them last. They looked up at his approach and Eomer had an odd sense of déjà vu. They both stared at him in surprise as he pulled his horse to a stop and awkwardly dismounted, the hobbit still clutched tightly in his arms.

"Legolas! Gimli!" the Rider called hurrying towards them. "I need help!" Exchanging puzzled glances, Gimli and Legolas moved to meet Eomer, then both cried out in surprise as they peered at the figure cradled in his arms.

"Sam!" breathed Legolas in shock. "Is he alive?"

"Where did you find him?" demanded Gimli who without waiting for a reply turned and dashed into the tent bellowing for Aragorn and Gandalf. Moments later, the two followed him out.

"Sam?" cried Aragorn in disbelief. Quickly assessing the situation, he took Sam from Eomer, carried him into the tent and gently laid him upon the one empty cot. The tent closed behind him.

Gandalf turned to Eomer, his eyes glistening with tears. "Where did you find him?" he whispered. Legolas and Gimli moved closer.

"When I was here earlier and noticed the orc garments the Ringbearer had been wearing, it reminded me of something. During the battle, my life had been saved by a strangely small orc with a glowing blue sword. I had not the liberty to consider this odd occurrence at the time, but seeing those clothes brought the incident back to me. When I learned that the Ringbearer's companion was missing, I began to wonder if that unusual orc could have been he. Perhaps they had both donned orc raiment to avoid detection and somehow became separated. I believed it was worth investigating, so I along with two of my men spent the last several hours combing the battlefield for him. Fortunately, one of my men spotted the glowing sword at the bottom of the ravine and we were able to rescue the hobbit." Here Eomer paused and pulled the sword from his belt. He frowned. "Here is the sword, but it no longer glows."

Gandalf slowly reached for the sword, a small smile played upon his lips. "Sting," he said almost reverently. "An elven sword which glows blue when orcs are near. There must have been enough orcs still alive on the battlefield to cause it to react and in turn, save Sam." He continued to study the blade. "This was Frodo's sword, given to him by his Uncle Bilbo. I had wondered where it had gone. Frodo will be glad of its return." Again he turned his eyes to meet those of the Rider. "We have much to thank you for, Lord Eomer," he said, a small catch in his throat. "This hobbit is very dear to all of us and to Frodo especially."

Eomer gave a slight bow and replied, "It was the very least I could do after what he and the other hobbits have done for us." He studied the outside of the tent for several long moments then turned to the others. "I must see to my men," he said, "But, please, will someone keep me informed of Sam's progress? I would like very much to thank him in person one day for saving my life." The others nodded and with that, Eomer turned, mounted his horse, and disappeared into the darkness. Gandalf, quickly followed by Legolas and Gimli, quietly entered the tent.

Aragorn studied the hobbit lying before him. Sam lay pale and unmoving; his face gaunt and haggard. It was hard to believe this was the same robust hobbit who had threatened Strider back in the Prancing Pony so very long again. Aragorn smiled faintly at the memory as he reached down to push the matted hair from Sam's burning forehead. An ugly gash ran from his right eyebrow to his scalp. It was deep and infected but hardly the worst of Sam's problems. Aragorn turned his attention to the battered orc armor encasing Sam's torso. The left side displayed a blood caked rent where a sword had pierced it. It pained Aragorn to think that one of his own comrades may have caused this. Gently, Aragorn pulled the armor from Sam's limp body, revealing the raw and bloody wound beneath. Aragorn carefully studied the wound, his lips pressed together in dismay. It was a deep wound and angry with infection. Aragorn reached for a bowl of water steeped with athelas and began to carefully cleanse the injured hobbit's wounds.

When he had finished, Aragorn knew it would take more than simply tending his wounds to save Sam. The hobbit had lost a great deal of blood and was dangerously dehydrated. It was also obvious it had been some time since Sam had had a decent meal. Aragorn knew Sam had few resources left to call upon and he would need a good deal of help. Help that only Aragorn could give. Aragorn glanced towards the cot where Frodo lay as pale and wan as Sam. Both of the hobbits had endured horrors that Aragorn could only guess at, but he would do his best to reunite them. With a deep sigh, he turned back to Sam and gently laid his hand on Sam's brow and silently mouthed the words that only Sam could hear. For a long time he sat thus, calling to the hobbit to bring him back from the dark vale in which he now wandered. Finally, with a slight gasp, Sam's eyes fluttered opened. His eyes met those of Aragorn for just a moment, but then, sighing, he closed them once more and descended into a deep and healing sleep.

Aragorn sat back, rubbing his eyes. The strong scent of athelas filled the tent. The Ranger was exhausted, his energy all but spent in saving the lives of Frodo and Sam. He looked down at Sam's grey face. Well, he had saved their lives for the moment anyway. Like Frodo, Sam was on the brink death Aragorn was surprised that either one still lived... Aragorn glanced towards the adjoining cot. Frodo lay still and pale as death, his breathing labored. The poisoned air of Mt. Doom had done much damage to the hobbit's lungs. Aragorn sighed. He prayed that the two friends would live to be reunited. He wished he could somehow let each know that the other survived. It might very well make the difference between life and death. But for now, he would tend to their wounds and put watch over them. It would be a long road to recovery for both of the hobbits and Aragorn hoped they were up to the journey.

A slight noise attracted his attention and he looked up to see Gandalf, Gimli and Legolas watching him, their faces pale with worry. Aragorn stood slowly and stretched, his own face etched with exhaustion but he smiled. "Sam lives, although he is sorely wounded. I have done for him as I have for Frodo and now all we can do is wait."

Gandalf sighed wearily. "I wish that I could have spared them all of this," he said quietly staring down at Frodo and Sam. "War is no place for hobbits, yet time and time again they have proven their bravery and worth. We would not be here now if not for the indomitable spirit of four little Halflings from the Shire." He laughed weakly. "Eomer says that Sam saved his life during our recent battle."

Aragorn's eyes widened in surprise. "Sam was actually _in_ the battle?"

Gandalf nodded. "He said Frodo's orc garments reminded him of an oddly small orc who saved his life during the battle. He was thus moved to return to the carnage of the battlefield to search for his savior. It was the glow of Sting that led him to Sam. If not for that chance, encounter, we would have lost both Eomer and Samwise Gamgee!"

Gimli chuckled. "Myself, I am looking forward to learning how a simple gardener from the Shire managed to become a recruit in Sauron's army!"

Gandalf smiled and reached down to gently touch Sam's hand. "I pray we get that opportunity, Gimli. It will be quite a tale indeed."

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! Life has been busy. As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing. There should be one more chapter.


	10. One Returns

Chapter 10 One Returns

The journey back was a long one for both hobbits. Aragorn sat by their cots night after night. Frodo's hand had become badly infected and his fever-fueled nightmares broke through the enchanted sleep Aragorn had placed upon him. It hurt the Ranger to think Frodo had suffered so deeply that even his best efforts could not bring the hobbit respite. He sighed and gently placed another cool cloth on Frodo's burning brow. Tomorrow they would begin the journey to Ithilien. Perhaps the gentler clime would ease Frodo's pain.

Aragorn then turned to Sam. Sam had not moved or uttered a sound since Aragorn first treated him. In some ways, this was almost more disturbing than Frodo's cries and thrashings. Aragorn checked the dressings on Sam's wound and shook his head in dismay. The wound was festering still and showed little sign of healing. Sam's and Frodo's bodies had been so depleted by their ordeals they had little strength to fight against the poisons of Mordor. Aragorn turned as he heard another enter the tent. Gandalf moved quietly beside him, his own face creased with concern.

"Are they showing any improvement?" he asked staring down at the hobbits. He gently laid his hand on Frodo's matted curls pushing them aside.

Aragorn sighed again as he placed a wet cloth on Sam's head. "No," he replied grimly. "I had hoped by now we would see some sort of sign of recovery, but if anything, they are worse. I can feel despair in their hearts. Each is convinced the other is dead and I cannot seem to get the message through to them that their companion lives!" He closed his eyes wearily before continuing. "Frodo has suffered so much simply by carrying the Ring all this time. He grieves for its loss as well. I can tell he believes that accepting Death's embrace is his only hope for peace. He feels his job is done and there is nothing left for him in this world. If he knew Sam lived, I think he might fight harder to return."

Gandalf stood silently for a moment. "And Sam?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Sam has stopped fighting as well. He believes he failed his master and because of this, Frodo has perished. Again, if he only knew his master was alive, Sam would be fighting with every ounce of his strength to return." Slowly, Aragorn stood and turned to face the wizard. "So, instead, I must fight for them," he said, his eyes sunken deep into his face. He could not bear the thought of losing any of the hobbits, especially now that the quest had been completed. Pippin was recovering nicely and giving his attendants more than they had bargained for. Word from Minas Tirith reported that Merry was also doing well. Hobbits were uncommonly hardy folk, but their emotions ran deep. In some cases, this could be a blessing, but in this situation it was more of a curse. The despair that both Sam and Frodo felt was hindering their recovery. Aragorn sighed wearily. He would do his best to save them, but in the end, it was up to them.

The following day, Aragorn prepared the hobbits for their journey to Ithilien. He truly hoped that by putting distance between the hobbits and the tainted lands of Mordor he might aid in their recovery. Carefully, he wrapped Frodo and Sam in warm blankets and laid them gently into the well-cushioned wagon in which they would ride. A cover had been erected to protect them from the elements and prying eyes.

When he was satisfied that they were as comfortable as possible, he turned and entered a nearby tent. He looked around and smiled as he spied Pippin sitting up in bed finishing the last of an obviously substantial breakfast. "I see they are not starving you, Pippin," he grinned. Pippin's eyes lit up as he recognized the tall Ranger.

Swallowing loudly, he grinned back. "Well, I could do with a bit more tea and another bowl of porridge. He stared longingly at his empty bowl. "But the healer tells me no more until lunchtime." He sighed morosely. "Obviously, _he's_ never heard of second breakfasts or elevenses either!"

Aragorn laughed. "But, I would think you would be pleased to be leaving here at last. I have sent word to have Merry brought to Ithilien to meet us."

"Merry!" cried Pippin, knocking his bowl to the floor with a crash. "Did you really? Will he be there when we arrive? When…ah!" Pippin winced in pain as he wrenched his injured ribs in his excitement.

"Careful!" cautioned Aragorn checking to see no permanent damage had been done. When he was satisfied he turned to his friend. "Well, Pippin, if you will allow me, I will carry you to the wagon where Frodo and Sam are sleeping. You can ride with them."

Pippin's face grew grave. "How are they, Strider?" he asked hesitantly. "Are they getting any better?" Pippin had seen them for the first time since their rescue just a few days before and he was dismayed at their condition. He deeply wished, not for the first time, that Merry was there with him.

Aragorn looked away for a moment then back at Pippin. "I am afraid they are no better but I hope the cleaner air of Ithilien will prove beneficial."

Tears glistened in Pippin's eyes as he nodded hopefully. Then, as gently as he could so as to spare Pippin any further discomfort, Aragorn lifted the hobbit into his arms and carried him to the wagon. Pippin gritted his teeth against the pain, but did not cry out. He sighed in relief as Aragorn set him down beside Frodo.

The departure for Ithilien was uneventful. Pippin chatted amiably with anyone within range and when no one was close by, the spoke to Frodo and Sam despite their lack of response. Aragorn smiled as he road nearby and heard Pippin describing his encounter with the Ents to his unconscious cousin. It was then an idea began to form. Aragorn thought back to the moment in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith when he was faced with trying to heal the reluctant Eowyn. Like Frodo and Sam, she had no desire to return to the land of the living and it was only through the strength of her brother Eomer's pleas that she had finally consented. Could Pippin possibly have the same affect on Frodo and Sam? Could he call them back or at least help them understand their friends still lived? Aragorn studied the young hobbit thoughtfully. It was certainly worth trying. He nodded to himself. Yes, as soon they were settled for the evening after the day's journey, he would attempt it. There wasn't much time left for Frodo and Sam for their strength was ebbing with each passing hour. If this didn't work, there was not much else he could do for them.

That evening, after camp was set up, Aragorn went to find Pippin. Knowing how hard it was for him to spend so much time with his unconscious friends, Aragorn had placed him in a tent with a couple of young Gondorians Pippin knew from his short stint as a Tower Guard. They too were recovering from wounds but were in good spirits and excellent company for Pippin's irrepressible spirit. When Aragorn arrived, the two young men were sound asleep but Pippin lay quietly in his cot almost as if waiting for the Ranger to arrive.

"Pippin," said Aragorn quietly as he knelt beside Pippin's cot. "I need your help."

Pippin blinked in surprise. "Anything!" he replied quickly. "What can I do?"

Aragorn sighed then went on. "My efforts to bring Frodo and Sam back to us have utterly failed. They do not respond to my calls. But, you are Frodo's kinsman and Sam's friend. You have known them all their lives. Maybe you can succeed where I have not. I want you to try and call them back." He paused a moment. "Pippin, I will not lie to you. I have little hope that they will recover unless this succeeds. When I moved them from the wagon, I could see that Frodo was even weaker than before and Sam's fever higher. They cannot withstand much more and I worry they may not even survive to reach Ithilien."

Pippin stared at him, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He looked away blinking rapidly then returned Aragorn's anguished gaze. "Then what are we waiting for?" he demanded as he pushed away his coverlet. "Take me to them!" Aragorn smiled as he reached down to lift Pippin. Although sorely injured from his encounter with the troll during the last battle, the hobbit was gaining strength rapidly and would soon be back on his own two feet.

It was a short walk to the tent where Frodo and Sam lay. Aragorn moved aside the tent flap and set Pippin carefully on a seat near Frodo's cot. Pippin took Frodo's hand in his and stared at his cousin's haggard face. He barely noticed as Aragorn took a bowl of steaming water and gently crushed two athelas leaves into it. The purifying fragrance quickly filled the small space and Pippin breathed deeply. Aragorn sat on the other side of Frodo and looked at Pippin. "I shall lift the enchanted sleep I have placed upon Frodo," he explained in a low voice, "Then I shall try to call him back. Be prepared to call him yourself. Try and let him know that Sam still lives and needs him. Do you understand, Pippin?" Pippin nodded tensely then watched as Aragorn gently placed his hand on Frodo's feverish brow.

For several long moments, it looked as if nothing was happening. Then slowly, Aragorn's face grew pale with fatigue. It seemed to Pippin that the Ranger was fighting some battle; his lips moving silently as he called to Frodo. Suddenly, Aragorn looked up. "Call him now, Pippin!" he commanded urgently.

"Frodo!" cried Pippin leaning forward, his grip on Frodo's hand tightening, "Frodo? Can you hear me? It's me – Pippin! Please come back to us, Frodo! Sam is alive but needs you! Please come back!" Over and over Pippin called to his cousin. Once or twice he glanced worriedly at Aragorn who still had his hand firmly pressed against Frodo's brow. Aragorn's breathing had become deeper and a bit ragged as if undergoing some great exertion. Suddenly, Frodo breathed deeply and let out a long, shuddering breath. Pippin started in surprise and Aragorn's eyes flew open as he peered into Frodo's face.

Frodo began to move fretfully and crying out as if in pain. Finally, after what seemed like hours to Pippin, Frodo's eyes fluttered opened. He stared out unseeing for a moment until he caught sight of Pippin. "Pippin?" he rasped, his voice rough with disuse and damage from the caustic fumes of Orodruin.

Pippin's face lit up in delighted relief. "Yes, Frodo!" he cried leaning in even closer. "It's me, Pippin! And Sam lies right beside you! He's alive, too, Frodo!"

Frodo closed his eyes and frowned as if he had trouble understanding the words. "Sam lives?" he whispered looking back at Pippin.

"Yes Frodo! Sam lives!"

Frodo stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed weakly, "Sam lives…" as his eyes closed and sleep overtook him once more.

"Frodo?" Pippin called anxiously, "Frodo?" He looked up at Aragorn in a panic. "Is he…?"

Aragorn smiled wearily. "You did it, Pippin. It was very difficult to bring him back enough for him to hear you, but hear you he did. He knows that Sam is alive now. I could feel the difference that news made. His spirit felt lighter somehow and his will grew stronger. I think he will fight now to survive, if only for Sam's sake." He turned at looked at Sam. Sam's breathing had become more and more labored and his body burned. Time was running out.

Aragorn moved Pippin closer to Sam and started the entire process over again. Repeatedly, Pippin called to Sam, his voice growing hoarse with desperation. But Sam did not respond. Sweat beaded upon Aragorn's forehead as he did his best to call Sam back but it useless. Sam simply would not respond and Pippin's cries went unheeded. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, Aragorn sat back. He rubbed his eyes and then looked into Pippin's anguished eyes. "It didn't work," the hobbit said softly, his voice catching.

"No, Pippin," replied Aragorn in frustration, "It did not." For several moments, the two sat silently listening to Sam's labored breathing. Aragorn thought hard. Who would Sam respond to? Frodo, obviously, but Frodo was in no condition to call to anyone. The only other hobbits were Pippin and Merry and although they were friends with Sam, they did not have the deep connection that Frodo had with the devoted gardener.

"Maybe…" began Pippin hesitantly then stopped, flushing.

"Yes, Pippin?" Aragorn said, encouraging the young hobbit to continue. He was open to any suggestion at this point.

"Well," said Pippin slowly, gnawing on his lower lip, "I once heard Sam say that Gandalf had ordered him to look out for Frodo. Sam took that responsibility very seriously, you know. Maybe if Gandalf tried calling him back…" He trailed off uncertainly.

Aragorn's face brightened. "Pippin," he cried, "That is a marvelous idea! You remain here with Frodo and Sam and I will go look for Gandalf." He stood up quickly, but paused to lay a hand on Sam's hot cheek. "Hold on just a little longer, Sam," he whispered and then was gone.

Author's Note: I apologize for the long delay in continuing this story! Life got in the way and to be honest, I didn't realize it had been so long since I had updated it. As always, thanks to all my readers and reviewers!


	11. Fighting for Sam

Chapter 11 Fighting for Sam

It took Aragorn some time before he was finally able to track down the elusive wizard. Gandalf had been flitting around the camp taking care of a myriad of details and problems and it seemed to Aragorn that no matter where he went, Gandalf had just departed moments before. Aragorn grew increasingly anxious knowing that each moment that passed might be one too many. Finally, he spied Gandalf's snowy robes near a group of Rohirrim. With a sigh of relief, he hurried over hailing the wizard as he approached. Gandalf turned in surprise and watched as Aragorn trotted up to him.

"At last!" exclaimed Aragorn as he came to a stop. "Gandalf, I need to speak with you!" Nodding and bidding farewell to the horsemen, Gandalf followed Aragorn away from the Rohirrim's camp. "We must hurry," urged Aragorn as he continued towards the hobbits' tent. Gandalf looked at him questioningly, but waited for the Ranger to continue. "Pippin was able to call Frodo back," explained Aragorn glancing over at Gandalf as the wizard gasped in delight, "But," the Ranger continued grimly, "He was not able to help Sam. We think that perhaps you might be able to instead."

"Me?" frowned Gandalf. "If one of his own kind cannot reach him, what makes you believe that I can?"

"Because you are the one that commanded Sam to look after Frodo in the first place," Aragorn replied. "According to Pippin, that was very important to Sam and just maybe, your voice can command him to return and resume his duties." Aragorn again glanced at Gandalf.

Gandalf pondered this for a few moments, then nodded. "Yes, Aragorn," he said a little breathlessly, "You may be right." He gave a small laugh. "Samwise is indeed something of a slave to duty! I will do my best."

A short while later, they reached the tent. Pippin looked up in relief as he watched Gandalf follow Aragorn inside. Gandalf glanced at Frodo's cot and smiled slightly as he noted Frodo's improved color. He then looked at Sam's cot and his smile vanished. Sam's breathing was now rapid and very shallow. Every breath seemed to require more and more effort on Sam's part and Gandalf knew the end was very near. He watched silently as Aragorn crushed more athelas leaves into a new bowl of steaming water. The two exchanged looks and Gandalf knelt at Sam's side beside Aragorn and nodded his readiness.

Aragorn took a deep breath and again repeated the earlier process of calling to Sam. Perspiration beaded on his brow, his face rigid with concentration. After several long, anguished moments he turned to Gandalf. "Now!" he gasped. "Call him now!"

Like Pippin before him, Gandalf held tightly to Sam's hand and in his most commanding voice said, "Samwise Gamgee! You must return to us NOW! Your master, Frodo, is alive and needs you! You must not abandon him when his need is so great!" Gandalf continued calling for several minutes when suddenly Sam let out a low, anguished moan. His head began thrashing from side to side in a growing frenzy as if the hobbit was trying to rid himself of thoughts to painful and horrible to bear. Still, Aragorn and Gandalf would not release him. The two fought as hard for Sam's life as they had for the salvation of all of Middle Earth. Pippin, holding onto Frodo's hand, watched fearfully as the battle raged.

Suddenly, Sam's body went rigid, his back arching high above his cot in agony. Then, just as abruptly, he went limp collapsing back onto the bedding. For several painful moments it seemed as if Aragorn and Gandalf had lost their battle but then Sam took a small, rasping breath; then another. Slowly, Sam opened his eyes in confusion and pain. "Samwise!" called Gandalf anxiously, "Can you hear me?"

"He's dead," whispered Sam, his voice barely audible. "I failed him and now's he's dead. Please, let me go!" His eyes were blank and to Aragorn, it seemed the faint spark of life there was fading as he watched.

"No, Sam!" cried Gandalf urgently clutching even more tightly to Sam's trembling hand. "He is _not_ dead! He lies beside you and needs you desperately."

"I failed him…" Sam's voice trailed off as his eyes began to close once more. .

"NO! Sam!" roared Gandalf in desperation, "Frodo lives!"

Gandalf's thunderous voice seemed to rouse Sam for a moment longer. This time, with great difficulty, the hobbit's eyes focused on the wizard's flushed face. He blinked several times but seemed unable to speak. Gandalf leaned closer, never letting his eyes leave Sam's. "Frodo _is alive_!" he stated firmly. "And he needs you, Sam. You must come back to us!"

Sam closed his eyes as a violent shudder ran through his wasted frame. His breathing seemed a bit more regular to Aragorn and the Ranger held his breath as he continued to watch Sam closely. Slowly, a single tear appeared at the corner of Sam's eye and made its way silently down his cheek. "Alive?" he managed to croak. "Frodo is alive?" Sam peered up into Gandalf's face, his own now showing signs of hope.

"Yes, my dear hobbit," smiled Gandalf gently stroking Sam's brow, "Frodo is still with us and in very great need of his dearest companion. You must not leave him, Samwise. You must fight to live and return to your master. Look"

Sam lay very still; the only sound in the tent was the harsh rattle of each strained breath. Then, with much difficulty, he turned his head and spied his master lying quietly beside him with Pippin watching fearfully by Frodo's side. Aragorn reached over and taking Frodo's hand carefully placed it within Sam's grasp. Sam stared silently at Frodo, his breaths coming more quickly now. His three friends watched him uneasily, their tension evident in the grim set of their faces. Then, a tear slowly traced its way down Sam's face, followed by another and then another. "Frodo," he murmured. Then, with a soft sigh, he closed his eyes again but now, his face was at peace.

"Aragorn?" whispered Pippin in alarm. "Is he…?"

Aragorn smiled wearily as he looked up at the young hobbit. "No, Pippin," he replied as he leaned back on his seat. "He is not dead. He heard us and he is fighting now." He gazed down at Sam and Frodo and for the first time since their rescue, felt a glimmer of hope.

He stood slowly and walked to the opening of the tent. Looking out, he saw Gimli and Legolas approaching, their faces reflecting their concern as they noticed the exhaustion etched upon Aragorn's. He stood aside to allow them entrance to the tent and smiled to himself as he heard their exclamations of relief for even to them, it was evident a corner had been turned and the hobbits were showing signs of improvement. Aragorn turned his head slightly as he felt Gandalf move beside him. "Hobbits are truly amazing creatures," the wizard murmured with a low chuckle.

Aragorn gave a slight laugh. "They truly are," was all he could say.

Author's note: There is one final chapter after this one. Thank you again for reading and reviewing!


	12. A Hobbit's Devotion

Chapter 12 A Hobbit's Devotion

Sam fought his way up from the depths of unconsciousness. It was a difficult battle for sleep seemed determined to hold him prisoner, but Sam had a mission. He could not clearly remember all that happened but one thought cried out to him: His master was alive! If this was true, Sam must go to him with all speed. He must break free of this cocoon of lethargy and find Frodo. He pictured his master wandering lost in the bleak wastelands of Mordor and if that is where his master was, so must go Sam.

With immense effort, Sam forced his eyes open. For a brief moment he panicked when he could see nothing by inky darkness but he quickly realized it must be nighttime. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. In fact, he was not truly aware of his surroundings at all. He still burned with a fever and Sam saw only what he wanted to see. In his mind, he was back in Mordor and he must find the boulders where he had left Frodo. Frodo would surely be there waiting for him Sam reasoned as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He closed his eyes again as the room spun around him and he labored for breath. He felt pain but in a distant, dreamlike way. It wasn't important. Slowly, he turned and placed his feet on the floor. Wheezing, he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing onto the cot for support as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him. For several long minutes he stood there steadying himself before finally standing upright. He turned his head and spied the slight lessening of the darkness where the tent opening was located. Slowly and painfully, Sam staggered towards it and out into the sleeping camp.

The sun had just risen when Herin, the Healer assigned to the general care of the Ringbearer and his companion, entered the tent. Although Lord Aragorn personally cared for the two hobbits, Herin watched over them in the meantime. Since they had reached Ithilien the day before, Herin's job had been fairly easy. The hobbits were deep within their healing sleep and they were beginning to show improvement. Herin had checked on the two Halflings during the night and all had been well. He expected no problems this morning so it came as a great shock indeed when he found himself faced with an empty cot. Dumbfounded, he stared at it as if he had never seen such a thing before. His eyes snapped to the adjacent cot and with relief, he spied Frodo's dark curls nestled deep within the pillows. Again he returned to the second empty cot and slowly approached it. Without thinking he quickly looked under both the cots as if Sam might be playing a prank. He stood again staring wildly about, a bubble of panic rising within him. He rushed out of the tent and began to frantically search the area. He kept telling himself how foolish this was – Samwise had been in no condition to go wandering off! He was in an enchanted sleep for goodness' sake! Could some one have taken him? These thoughts rapidly flickered through his mind along with a growing fear that he was going to have to explain to Lord Aragorn and the wizard Gandalf that somehow he had lost a hobbit!

"Herin?" The Healer wheeled around in alarm as he came face to face with Lord Aragorn.

"My…my lord!" he stuttered in dismay his eyes still darting about in hopes of locating the missing Halfling.

"Is something amiss?" inquired Aragorn with concern. He noted the Healer's obvious agitation and could feel a sense of growing unease.

"My…my lord," began Herin again, now wringing his hands nervously, "Ah, one of the, ah, hobbits seems to have disappeared."

Aragorn stared at him frowning. "What do you mean 'disappeared'?" Without waiting for a reply, Aragorn swept past the trembling Healer and thrust himself through the tent opening halting beside Sam's empty cot. Staring at it for a moment, he wheeled to again to face the Healer. "Tell me what happened," he demanded tersely.

The Healer swallowed. "I...I checked on them about midnight," he stammered. "They were both sleeping soundly. When I returned just now, I found Sam was missing from his bed! He…he couldn't have just wandered off…could he?"

Aragorn stood deep in thought. This made no sense. He had placed both the hobbits into a deep healing sleep and it should have been nearly impossible for them to break through that. That left only one other alternative and that was Sam had been kidnapped. Aragorn shook his head. That made no sense either! Why would anyone take Sam? Few people even knew who he was and fewer, what he had done. He stared down at his feet for a few moments, then frowned. Squatting, he carefully peered at the ground at his feet. His frown grew deeper. Slowly, he began to make his way away from the tent, never letting his eyes lift from the ground before him. Herin watched in bewilderment. "My lord?" he asked hesitantly.

Still carefully advancing, Aragorn replied, "I see hobbit tracks here, leaving the tent and heading towards the east." He paused, looking up as the implication became clear to him. "Towards Mordor."

Herin stared at him in horror. "Mordor?" he whispered following Aragorn's gaze. "But…but why would he return there?"

"Frodo." Aragorn shook his head ruefully. "We made sure Sam knew Frodo was alive, but we failed to see the possible consequences of that action. Obviously, in his delirium, Sam understood Frodo lived but not that he was safely beside him. He must think Frodo is still lost in Mordor and now he has gone to find him." He paused for a moment then sighed. "However, I doubt he has gone far. As you say, he is in no condition to go wandering about. I am just astounded that his devotion was so powerful as to allow him to break through the healing spell!" Shaking his head once more, Aragorn resumed his tracking.

Sam staggered drunkenly as he made his way toward the hulking mountains in the east. Time and time again he stumbled and fell and each effort to rise and resume his journey was more difficult than the last. He wore nothing but his nightshirt but in his fevered state he did not feel the chill wind swirling about his shivering body. As luck would have it, his and Frodo's tent had been located towards the edge of the camp in a quiet wooded glen, away from the noise and hubbub of the rest of the encampment. If this had not been the case, it is unlikely Sam would have been able to wander as far as he did.

Sam's heart and determination were very strong, but his physical strength was not. He stumbled one more time and went sliding down into a brushy ravine. He cried in pain as his barely healed wound split open staining his nightshirt a brilliant red. He lay panting as the world swirled around him. He lifted his head and tried desperately to disentangle himself from the brush and pull himself to his feet but it was no use. His battered body could go no further and with a cry of despair, Sam collapsed into the welcoming darkness.

To Herin, it seemed as if they had traveled miles before they finally caught up with the errant hobbit. Sam had made it out of the camp and made nearly a league before collapsing into a brush filled gully. If Aragorn had not been the skillful tracker he was, they would have lost Sam entirely. Aragorn slid down the slope to where Sam lay tangled up in prickly bush. The hobbit's face and hands were badly scratched but Aragorn inwardly groaned at the sight of Sam's blood-soaked nightshirt. Carefully, he lifted Sam in his arms and carried him back up to where Herin anxiously awaited their return. "Is he alive?" the Healer asked as he assisted Aragorn over the top of the ravine.

Aragorn nodded absently then deftly removed his cloak and gently laid the hobbit on top. "Frodo!" Aragorn started in surprise as Sam croaked his beloved master's name. Aragorn had been certain Sam was unconscious.

"Sam?" asked Aragorn softly, "Can you hear me?"

Sam moaned and feebly attempted to escape Aragorn's grasp. "No! I must find Mister Frodo!"

"Sam!" cried Aragorn more urgently, "Sam! Can you hear me?" He laid his hand on Sam's forehead wincing at its heat. Herin hovered apprehensively nearby. Aragorn called Sam's name yet again and until at last, it appeared the hobbit heard.

Sam's eyes slowly focused on Aragorn's face and he frowned in confusion. "Strider?"

Aragorn gave a small laugh of relief, "Yes, Sam! It is Strider! Sam, you must listen to me, Frodo is safe! He is not in Mordor but with us!"

Sam seem to shudder with pain but his eyes remained focused on Aragorn's as he labored to understand what the Ranger was saying. After a few moments he whispered, "Are you sure?"

Aragorn nodded firmly. "Yes, Sam, I am sure. Now, you must come back with us to Frodo. He is waiting for you but you must get better so that you may help him. Do you understand me Sam?"

Again Sam stared at him silently. His entire body was trembling now. Aragorn wanting nothing more than to get him back to camp and return him to his healing sleep, but the Ranger knew it was vitally important that Sam understand about Frodo, otherwise Aragorn was certain the hobbit would continue to expend what little energy he had in attempting to fight off the spell and go again in search of Frodo. Finally Sam nodded. "I understand." Aragorn smiled wearily as he painstakingly wrapped Sam in his cloak.

"It will be all right now, Sam" he said as he again took the hobbit up in his arms. "I'm taking you to Frodo now." Sam gave a small trusting smile and Aragorn felt his body relax as unconscious took Sam into its soothing void once more.

Aragorn carried Sam back to the tent ignoring the puzzled glances from those he passed. Although he knew Sam could not hear him, he continued to murmur reassurances to the hobbit in his arms. The power of Sam's devotion to his master still astounded him. "Aragorn?" The Ranger looked up to see Gandalf hurrying towards him, his face clouded with concern. "What has happened?"

Aragorn, smiling fondly at Sam's pale face, looked at the wizard. "Sam decided to look for Frodo. Apparently he thought him to still be trapped in Mordor."

Gandalf stood speechless for a moment than laughed shaking his head. "As I have said many a time, never underestimate the strength of a hobbit!" He fell in beside Aragorn as they continued their way back to the tent. "Is he all right?"

"I hope so," replied Aragorn. "The important thing is I believe he truly understands that Frodo is safe and that should make all the difference. Sam can now devote his energies to getting better rather than fighting the healing spell!" Entering the tent at last, Aragorn carefully laid Sam upon the vacant cot. He removed Sam's blood soaked night shirt and closely examined his wounds. Sam had lost a fair amount of blood but Aragorn quickly re-stitched the wound closed and soon the hobbit was encased in fresh bandages. "All right, Sam," Aragorn whispered sponging Sam's feverish brow, "Now it is up to you! Frodo is waiting."

Sam gave a small sigh and for the first time since his rescue looked truly at peace.

Author's note: I sincerely apologize for the delay in getting this out. This chapter ended up being too long so I have split it in two. As soon as I finish editing the last one, I will put it up. Thanks for your patience and your support!


	13. The End

Chapter 13 The End

It was the warm sun on his face and soft song of birds that finally woke Frodo from his deep sleep. He stretched luxuriously and snuggled deeper into soft blankets. He was so comfortable and peaceful, he hated to wake and start the day's chores. Abruptly, his eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up. This wasn't his bed in Bag End! Where was he? A sharp pain caused him to look down in surprise at his heavily bandaged hand. Then, it all came flooding back to him: the Ring, Mordor, Gollum, the Cracks of Doom, the loss of Sam. It was if a nightmare was replaying itself in his head, but one thought stood out among the rest. "I must find Sam!" he whispered.

"Then you need not look any farther than beside you," came a calm, comforting voice.

Spying Gandalf in the seat beside his bed, Frodo gaped at the wizard in disbelief. "Gandalf!?" he choked. "You're…you're alive!? How can that be?"

The wizard, his eyes twinkling, peacefully puffed away on his long stem pipe. "That, my dear hobbit, is a very long story and best saved for another day. But, you are alive and as I said, Sam is there beside you."

Frodo's head whipped around and he stared at the pale figure lying still in a bed beside his. "Sam!" he cried in shock and relief. "Will he be all right? Where did you find him!?"

Gandalf smiled. "Yes, Frodo, he, like yourself, has had a difficult time of it. Both of you were on the very brink of death. He will need a few more days of sleep, but will be well again. As will you." Gandalf paused a moment and glanced fondly at Sam's sleeping form. "Master Gamgee actually managed to break through a sleeping spell placed upon you both to help you in your recovery." Frodo looked at him questioningly. Gandalf smiled again. "He went looking for you, Frodo. That is true devotion!"

Frodo lay back on his pillows and stared up at the green boughs above him as he considered all of this. It was almost too much to believe that his last conscious thoughts had been amongst the fiery wreckage of Mt. Doom and how he believed Sam was lost to him. He frowned a little. No, that wasn't entirely true. He _had_ thought Sam lost, but he struggled to remember a dream where Sam lived. It had seemed so real to Frodo that finding Sam alive wasn't entirely a surprise. Now he lay in the golden sunlight in a soft bed and Sam slept peacefully beside him as if none of the nightmarish events had ever occurred. He turned again to Gandalf and hesitantly asked, "Pippin? Merry? And the others? How are they? We learned of Boromir's death from his brother, Captain Faramir. But, do the others live?" His eyes were dark with worry.

Again Gandalf smiled, "Pippin and Merry have had many amazing adventures of their own, as I am certain they will be more than happy to tell you. In the meantime, suffice it to say that they are both now well as are the others. You will meet them soon enough. But now, I suggest you get some more rest. I shall have a meal sent up now that you are awake."

Frodo nodded, still bemused by this unexpected turn of events. He turned as Gandalf left the room and studied Sam's thin features. He looked very different from the well-built hobbit that started out from Hobbiton so long ago. This gaunt face was careworn and appeared to have aged considerably, yet was peaceful in sleep. Frodo gently touched Sam's face as if to convince himself his friend still lived. What had happened to him in Mordor? How had he managed to return? Frodo gave a small laugh. For that matter, how had _he_?

He closed his eyes for a moment as an unexpected wave of dizziness swept over him. When it had passed he slowly reopened them and brought his injured hand to his face studying it grimly. Much of the events in Mt. Doom were clouded in his mind but all too clearly he remembered the searing pain of Gollum's bite. Frodo had lost the Ring, but regained himself in that one brief, agonizing moment. If Gollum had not been there, Frodo considered philosophically, the Quest would have failed. Gandalf had been right when he believed Gollum still had had an important part to play. The pathetic creature had inadvertently destroyed the Ring when Frodo could not. Frodo gave his head as shake as if to dispel these unhappy thoughts. He knew the Quest had changed him greatly but for now, he would be content to rest and wait for Sam.

Frodo stared sightlessly at the book resting on his lap. He had been awake for two days now and was feeling stronger with each passing day. He had spent several hours with Pippin and Merry and that alone had lifted his spirits as nothing else could. Nothing except for Sam's awakening. He turned his eyes to the figure in the cot nearby and smiled. Aragorn had described more fully about how Sam had managed to fight off the sleeping spell and gone in search of his master. How could Frodo have ever doubted Sam's devotion? It had taken a toll on Sam, but the extra days of sleep seemed to have worked their magic. Aragorn had assured him Sam should awaken at any time.

Frodo sighed again and tried to return to his book when a low moan brought him sharply to attention. His eyes snapped to the adjacent cot and with a small cry of relief, he saw Sam's eyes flicker open and peer about in confusion. "Sam!" Frodo cried and pushing back his own covers, slid from his cot and hurried to his friend's side. "Sam!" he called again, "Can you hear me?" He took Sam's hand in his own gnawing on his lip anxiously.

It took a moment before Sam could focus his gaze on the face hovering worriedly above him. Even then, it seemed to take an eternity before Sam finally recognized his master's face. "Frodo?" he whispered hoarsely. Sam frowned in confusion as he reached up with his free hand to touch Frodo's face. "Frodo?" He repeated a little louder, "Is…is it really you!?"

Frodo laughed and gathered his friend in an ecstatic bear hug. "Yes, Sam!" he cried in delight. "I'm here and you're here! We're here together!"

Sam blinked a few more times and then with a dazed expression on his face, he fiercely hugged Frodo in return. The two friends stayed like that for several long moments before Sam pulled away, buried his face in his hands and burst into tears. "Mister Frodo!" he sobbed miserably, "I failed you in Mordor! I left you alone with no one to help you! How can you stand to look at me!?"

Frodo sighed. He was expecting this but it pained him nonetheless. He took Sam by the shoulders and forced him to look at him. "What happened, Sam?" Frodo asked quietly. "_Why_ did you leave me? Why did you not return? Answer me these questions and then I'll decide if you failed me!"

With a slight hiccup, Sam leaned back into his pillows and wiped the tears from his face. He was so happy to see his master alive and well but felt so guilty for having left Frodo to face the perils of Mordor alone. He had sworn to stay by Frodo's side through to the bitter end and instead, abandoned him at the most crucial moment. Sam took a deep breath and began. "I pulled you off the road when we reached the entrance into the orcs' camp and hid you in some boulders. Do you remember?" He looked over at Frodo's attentive face. Frodo nodded. "Well, after I covered you with my cloak, I found I had lost the Lady's light! I remembered hearin' something fall while we were climbin' down off the road and I thought I'd better go look before one of them stinkin' orcs found it." He paused again and drank gratefully from a cup of water Frodo offered him. Sam sighed. "I found it all right," he continued morosely, "but then that monster orc, the one with the whip, grabbed hold of me and I was in the pot then! He dragged me into the camp but I was able to give him the slip and hid in a little cave. I was sick for a couple of days so I'm a little fuzzy about what was happening then," he added, downplaying the seriousness of his illness.

Sam lay quietly for a few moments while Frodo patiently waited. Frodo knew that being caught in the orcs' camp would have been an ordeal few could have endured. He shuddered as he remembered his own encounters with the foul beasts. How could Sam have borne being surrounded by thousands and thousands of those bloodthirsty monsters? Frodo laid an encouraging hand on his friend's arm. "What happened then?" he asked softly.

Sam gave a small, mirthless laugh. "I was recruited into the orc army!" He shook his head at Frodo's look of surprise. "When the army was getting ready to move out, those big orcs were searching the caves for deserters so I had to get out quick. When I did, one of them grabbed me, pushed me in line and gave me a spear! I didn't dare take out Sting! Think what a stink that woulda caused when it started glowing, what with all them orcs about!" He paused again, his eyes distant. "I decided then and there," Sam said quietly, "That if I was going to have to fight, I would take as many of those monsters with me as I could. I knew then, I wouldn't be able to return to find you." His head hung low. "I am sorry, Mr. Frodo." The last was barely a whisper.

"Sam! You ninny!" chided Frodo shaking his head, "It wasn't your fault! If the orcs had found the Lady's light, then they probably would have come looking for us! You saved my life and I was able to finish the quest." Now it was Frodo's turn to pause. He closed his eyes for a moment as the hellish image of the Cracks of Doom flitted across his mind. He clenched his injured hand for a moment, then relaxed. He took a deep breath and smiled. "I have also heard that while you were in the orc army, you saved the life of the new king of Rohan!"

Sam's head popped up in surprise. "I…I did what?" He stared at Frodo in utter confusion, unable to make sense of this last statement. He didn't seem to recall seeing any kings during the battle.

Frodo laughed again. "That's how you were found! It seems that the new King of Rohan had lost his sword and was about to be killed when his attacker was slain by an "unusually small" orc as he put it. I was told that later on, King Eomer, that's his name, saw the orc garments I had been wearing and he remembered the orc that save his life. He went and searched the battlefield until one of his men saw Sting glowing! That's how you were saved! The king is most grateful to you!" Frodo smiled. "Who knows, maybe he'll make you a prince or knight or something! Wouldn't that be a tale to tell in the Green Dragon!"

Sam just stared at Frodo, his mouth agape in wonder. This was simply more than the poor hobbit's brain could understand. _He_, Samwise Gamgee, a simple gardener from the Shire, had saved a _king_!? Wouldn't the Gaffer be amazed by that! And maybe…just maybe, Rosie might be inclined to look upon him with bit more interest. Sam smiled at little at that. But, with a frown, he turned back to his master. "Mister Frodo," he said hesitantly, "What about you? How did you manage to make it to Mt. Doom? I know you must have destroyed that accursed Ring, but how did you get back here? And your poor hand!" Sam had suddenly become aware of the bandages on Frodo's hand.

Frodo sighed as he studied the hand for a moment. "It was a nightmare, Sam," he began. "I didn't know what had happened to you. I followed your tracks to the road, but knew I couldn't follow you into the orcs' camp." Frodo looked at his friend sadly. "It was so hard leaving you to your fate but I had no choice." Sam nodded solemnly. He understood the Quest had had to take precedent over all. "I had your share of the food and water which helped keep me going but I'm still not entirely sure how I made it all the way to Mt. Doom. It's all a blur." Frodo looked away. The journey was indeed a blur, but the memory of the Ring's power of him was still all too sharp in his memory.

He shook his head as if to dispel those unpleasant thoughts and continued. "I got there but I couldn't throw the Ring into the Fires. I…I couldn't resist it any longer." This last was a difficult admission for Frodo. He felt like he had betrayed all of his friends by allowing the Ring to finally consume him. He gave a small laugh as he said, "Gollum destroyed the Ring."

"Gollum!?" cried Sam in shock. "That stinker!? He followed you all the way to Mt. Doom?"

Frodo nodded. "The pull of the Ring was even more powerful to him. He attacked me and tried to take the Ring for himself. I…I had put the Ring on by that time." Every word was like tearing open a fresh wound to Frodo. "He… bit off my finger to get the Ring."

Sam stared at him aghast, his eyes dropping again to Frodo's bandaged hand. "Mister Frodo," he whispered, tears slowly searing their way down his pale cheek. "It's all my fault! If only I had been there…"

"NO!" cried Frodo angrily. "There was _nothing_ you could have done to prevent the Ring from taking me, Sam! It had to be that way. Remember what Gandalf said about even Gollum may have his part to play in this. Well, Gollum did! He saved us all in the end! We were right to have let him live! A finger was a small price to pay for the salvation of Middle Earth!" Frodo's eyes softened at Sam's wretched expression. "Really, Sam" he said more gently, "It is all right." He reached out and placed his hand on Sam's arm. "The important things are that the Ring and Sauron have been destroyed, Middle Earth is saved and we are still alive, maybe not unscathed, but alive nonetheless!"

Sam swiped at his eyes and gave Frodo a tentative, watery smile. "We are alive," he said wonderingly, "We both are!"

"As are we!" piped up a voice from the doorway. Sam looked up in surprise to see Pippin and Merry grinning at him, each with a sizeable breakfast tray in hand. Laughing loudly, the two hobbits scurried into the room and deposited their burdens on the beds.

"It's about time you woke up, Samwise Gamgee!" scolded Pippin, helping himself to a piece of toast. "We've been waiting ages for you to come round!"

Sam shook his head slowly as if unable to believe his eyes. "Merry!" he exclaimed weakly. "Pippin!" He studied them in wonder and noted the changes time had wrought upon his friends. Both seemed oddly taller but more importantly, there was a maturity, a steeliness that had not been there before. As they sat and ate, Sam noticed Merry unconsciously rubbing his arm from time to time as if it pained him. Pippin moved more slowly and stiffly than was usual for him and occasionally both would get a faraway look in their eyes. What had his friends undergone during their own adventures, he wondered and how did he appear to them? He glanced again at Frodo. Although his master seemed almost his old self, Sam could tell there was a deep wound that would probably never heal. No, the quest had not been kind to any of them but perhaps they were all stronger than they had been before.

As the day progressed, Sam was greeted by more old friends. Gimli and Legolas stopped by to express their delight at being reunited with Sam. "We thought you were dead!" growled Gimli shaking his head, yet a glistening in his eyes betrayed his emotions. "When Lord Eomer came riding up with you in his arms, we thought we had lost yet another of our companions." The dwarf rubbed at his eyes self consciously. Then he smiled, "But now that all you hobbits are back together, I'm sure the kitchens will be hard pressed to keep up with you!"

Aragorn and Gandalf arrived soon afterwards. Sam knew Gandalf had survived his battle with the Balrog, but it still didn't quite prepare him for the reality of seeing the White Wizard standing before him in the flesh. Sam, always a bit leery of the wizard, felt more intimidated that ever but Gandalf's warm smile helped put the hobbit more at ease.

"Well, Sam" said Aragorn as he sat next to Sam's bed. "How do you feel?" He studied the hobbit closely and was relieved to see Sam seemed to be faring well.

"I…I don't rightly know," mumbled Sam in bewilderment. "I feel well enough but tired and happy and sad and …and confused!"

Aragorn laughed softly. "Do not worry yourself, Sam!" he smiled patting Sam's shoulder reassuringly. "You have a lot to take in and have had little time to digest it. Now, you need rest and nourishment and soon you and Frodo will both be up and around as good as new! You both have suffered much and although the healing sleep has done its work admirably, it will be a few more days before you will be leaving your beds!"

There was one more visitor that Sam had hardly expected to see and that was Lord Eomer, the new King of Rohan. It was the second day since Sam had wakened and he and Frodo had just finished yet another meal. Sam sighed contentedly thinking how glad he was of real bread and cheese and that he would be thrilled if he never tasted Lembas bread again in his life. A soft knock caused him to look up in time to see a tall, blond man, a white horse embroidered on his tunic standing hesitantly in the doorway. The man studied Sam carefully for a moment, bowed and then said in a low voice, "Master Gamgee, I am Eomer and would be most honored if I might have a word with you."

Sam stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the man. He knew full well who Lord Eomer was and was surprised the man had downplayed his own importance. "P…please, my lord!" stammered Sam struggling to sit up and make himself presentable, "Please, come in!" Sam could feel his face reddening as he glanced over at Frodo who sat quietly in his own bed, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

Eomer entered, bowed briefly to Frodo then fell to one knee beside Sam's cot. "Master Gamgee," the Rider began solemnly, "I owe you my life. You spared me from an orc's blade in the midst of our late battle and for that I am forever in your debt. If you should ever have need of my assistance, you have but to send me this token and I shall ride to your aid as quickly as I am able." With that, Eomer took from a small pouch at his waist a golden ring set with an emerald cut into the shape of a horse's head. This he pressed into Sam's shaking hand closing his own over the hobbit's. "I will never forget this, Samwise Gamgee," he said smiling now. "All of Middle Earth owes you and the Ringbearer so much, but as long as I live, my sword is yours."

"Uh…." Sam stared at the ring and then back at Eomer. "Th…thank-you my lord! But…but you saved my life too! Doesn't that make us…um…even?" Sam gnawed at his lip feeling foolish and uncomfortable.

Eomer laughed as he stood. "No, Master Gamgee," he replied straightening his tunic. "I would save your life twenty times over and not feel the debt had been repaid. You will always find a warm welcome at Edoras and all of Rohan will count you among our heroes." He smiled and added, "And I have no doubt that many a song and tale will result from your saving my life!"

It was this last that made the biggest impression on Sam. Long after King Eomer had taken his leave, Sam continued to shake his head in awe and disbelief. "You'll finally get your wish, Sam!" Frodo laughed watching his friend. "Just imagine all those children in Rohan sitting beside the hearth hearing the story of _Samwise the Brave and the King of Rohan_ for many years to come!" Sam blushed but looked pleased just the same.

Later, while Frodo slept, Sam lay quietly for a long while thinking. The nightmare was finally over and soon he hoped they would be on their way back home again. What would they find there he wondered? Would the Shire still be untouched by the horrors that had been unleashed upon most of Middle Earth or had the dark shadow found its way even into those peaceful lands? He shuddered to think of Hobbiton and his friends and family in the hands of orcs or worse, the Black Riders. He shook his head. No, he decided. After the Ring had left the Shire, it was unlikely Sauron would have had any interest in those distant lands while he still had more important targets such as Rohan and Gondor to deal with. With a sense of relief, Sam slowly closed his eyes. Yes, the Shire was safe and soon he and the others would be back with their loved ones and life would go on as it always had. He smiled faintly as he felt sleep's gentle touch. The nightmare was indeed truly over, Sam was certain of it, then for just the briefest of moments, he felt a twinge of fear. Or was it? Sleep came to him then, and he knew no more.

The End

A.N.: Sorry it has taken me an eternity to finish this and the final chapter turned out to be a lot longer than I had intended. But, this is really the end and I want to thank you all for your patience and encouragement! This is the last of the stories I had begun at various times about Sam so I expect this is my last Suffering Sam story. I hope you have enjoyed it!


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